THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 


WEIR    OF 
HERMISTON 

An  Unfinished  Romance  by 

ROBERT    LOUIS 

STEVENSON 


Copyright  1896  by 
STONE  &  KIMBALL 


Copyright  1896  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  TT.S.A. 


Cofle«e 
Library 


To 
MY    WIFE 

/  saw  rain  falling  and  the  rainbow  drawn 
On  Lammermuir.      Hearkening  I  heard  again 
In  my  precipitous  city  beaten  bells 
Winnow  the  keen  sea  wind.      And  here  afar, 
Intent  on  my  own  race  and  place,  I  wrote. 

Take  tbou  the  writing :  thine  it  is.      For  who 
Burnished  the  sword,  blew  on  the  drowsy  coal, 
Held  still  the  target  higher,  chary  of  praise 
And  prodigal  of  counsel —  who  but  tbou  ? 
So  now,  in  the  end,  if  this  the  least  be  good, 
If  any  deed  be  done,  if  any  fire 
Burn  in  the  imperfect  page,  the  praise  be  thine. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 
DEDICATION      ......  ill 

INTRODUCTORY  .....  3 

CHAP. 

I.    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF    MRS.    WEIR    ,  .  5 

II.     FATHER    AND    SON         .  .  .  -33 

III.  IN     THE     MATTER     OF    THE    HANGING     OF 

DUNCAN    JOPP  .  .  .  .45 

IV.  OPINION    OF    THE    BENCH         .  .  .74 
V.    WINTER    ON    THE    MOORS  : 

1.  AT    HERMISTON  .  .  .92 

2.  KIRSTIE  ....          99 

3.  A    BORDER    FAMILY    .  .  .105 

VI.    A   LEAF    FROM    CHRISTINA'S    PSALM-BOOK  .        137 
VII.    ENTER    MEPHISTOPHELES          .  .  .185 

VIII.    A    NOCTURNAL    VISIT  .  .  .  .217 

ix.  AT  THE  WEAVER'S  STONE    .          .          .232 

EDITORIAL    NOTE         .  .  .  .  .243 

GLOSSARY    OF    SCOTTISH    WORDS      .  .  26 1 


WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 


Introductory 

In  the  wild  end  of  a  moorland  parish,  far 
out  of  the  sight  of  any  house,  there  stands  a 
cairn  among  the  heather,  and  a  little  by  east 
of  it,  in  the  going  down  of  the  .braeside,  a 
monument  with  some  verses  half  defaced.  It 
was  here  that  Claverhouse  shot  with  his  own 
hand  the  Praying  Weaver  of  Balweary,  and 
the  chisel  of  Old  Mortality  has  clinked  on 
that  lonely  gravestone.  Public  and  domestic 
history  have  thus  marked  with  a  bloody  finger 
this  hollow  among  the  hills ;  and  since  the 
Cameronian  gave  his  life  there,  two  hundred 
years  ago,  in  a  glorious  folly,  and  without 
comprehension  or  regret,  the  silence  of  the 
moss  has  been  broken  once  again  by  the  re- 
port of  firearms  and  the  cry  of  the  dying. 

The  Deil's  Hags  was  the  old  name.      But 

the  place  is  now  called  Francie's  Cairn.    For 

a    while    it    was  told  that    Francie    walked. 

Aggie  Hogg  met  him  in  the  gloaming  by  the 

3 


4  INTRODUCTORY 

cairnside,  and  he  spoke  to  her,  with  chatter- 
ing teeth,  so  that  his  words  were  lost.  He 
pursued  Rob  Todd  (if  anyone  could  have  be- 
lieved Robbie)  for  the  space  of  half  a  mile 
with  pitiful  entreaties.  But  the  age  is  one  of 
incredulity ;  these  superstitious  decorations 
speedily  fell  off;  and  the  facts  of  the  story 
itself,  like  the  bones  of  a  giant  buried  there 
and  half  dug  up,  survived,  naked  and  imper- 
fect, in  the  memory  of  the  scattered  neigh- 
bours. To  this  day,  of  winter  nights,  when 
the  sleet  is  on  the  window  and  the  cattle  are 
quiet  in  the  byre,  there  will  be  told  again, 
amid  the  silence  of  the  young  and  the  addi- 
tions and  corrections  of  the  old,  the  tale  of 
the  Justice-Clerk  and  of  his  son,  young  Her- 
miston,  that  vanished  from  men's  knowledge; 
of  the  two  Kirsties  and  the  Four  Black 
Brothers  of  the  Cauldstaneslap ;  and  of  Frank 
Innes,  "  the  young  fool  advocate,"  that  came 
into  these  moorland  parts  to  find  his  destiny. 


Chapter  I 

LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR 

The  Lord  Justice-Clerk  was  a  stranger  in 
that  part  of  the  country  j  but  his  lady  wife 
was  known  there  from  a  child,  as  her  race 
had  been  before  her.  The  old  "  riding  Ruth- 
erfords  of  Hermiston,"  of  whom  she  was  the 
last  descendant,  had  been  famous  men  of  yore, 
ill  neighbours,  ill  subjects,  and  ill  husbands 
to  their  wives  though  not  their  properties. 
Tales  of  them  were  rife  for  twenty  miles 
about ;  and  their  name  was  even  printed  in 
the  page  of  our  Scots  histories,  not  always  to 
their  credit.  One  bit  the  dust  at  Flodden; 
one  was  hanged  at  his  peel  door  by  James 
the  Fifth ;  another  fell  dead  in  a  carouse 
with  Tom  Dalyell ;  while  a  fourth  (and  that 
was  Jean's  own  father)  died  presiding  at  a 


6  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

Hell-Fire  Club,  of  which  he  was  the  foun- 
der. There  were  many  heads  shaken  in 
Crossmichael  at  that  judgment ;  the  more  so 
as  the  man  had  a  villainous  reputation  among 
high  and  low,  and  both  with  the  godly  and 
the  worldly.  At  that  very  hour  of  his  de- 
mise, he  had  ten  going  pleas  before  the  ses- 
sion, eight  of  them  oppressive.  And  the 
same  doom  extended  even  to  his  agents  ;  his 
grieve,  that  had  been  his  right  hand  in  many  a 
left-hand  business,  being  cast  from  his  horse 
one  night  and  drowned  in  a  peat-hag  on  the 
Kye  skairs ;  and  his  very  doer  (although  law- 
yers have  long  spoons)  surviving  him  not 
long,  and  dying  on  a  sudden  in  a  bloody  flux. 
In  all  these  generations,  while  a  male 
Rutherford  was  in  the  saddle  with  his  lads, 
or  brawling  in  a  change-house,  there  would 
be  always  a  white-faced  wife  immured  at 
home  in  the  old  peel  or  the  later  mansion- 
house.  It  seemed  this  succession  of  mar- 
tyrs bided  long,  but  took  their  vengeance  in 
the  end,  and  that  was  in  the  person  of  the 
last  descendant,  Jean.  She  bore  the  name 


LIFE  AND   DEATH   OF   MRS.  WEIR     7 

of  the  Rutherfords,  but  she  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  their  trembling  wives.  At  the  first 
she  was  not  wholly  without  charm.  Neigh- 
bours recalled  in  her,  as  a  child,  a  strain  of 
elfin  wilfulness,  gentle  little  mutinies,  sad 
little  gaieties,  even  a  morning  gleam  of  beauty 
that  was  not  to  be  fulfilled.  She  withered 
in  the  growing,  and  (whether  it  was  the  sins 
of  her  sires  or  the  sorrows  of  her  mothers) 
came  to  her  maturity  depressed,  and,  as  it 
were,  defaced ;  no  blood  of  life  in  her,  no 
grasp  or  gaiety  ;  pious,  anxious,  tender,  tear- 
ful, and  incompetent. 

It  was  a  wonder  to  many  that  she  had 
married — seeming  so  wholly  of  the  stuff  that 
makes  old  maids.  But  chance  cast  her  in 
the  path  of  Adam  Weir,  then  the  new  Lord- 
Advocate,  a  recognised,  risen  man,  the  con- 
queror of  many  obstacles,  and  thus  late  in 
the  day  beginning  to  think  upon  a  wife.  He 
was  one  who  looked  rather  to  obedience  than 
beauty,  yet  it  would  seem  he  was  struck  with 
her  at  the  first  look.  "  Wha's  she  ? "  he 
said,  turning  to  his  host ;  and,  when  he  had 
been  told,  "Ay,"  says  he,  "  she  looks  mense- 


8  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

ful.       She  minds  me " ;  and  then,  after 

a  pause  (which  some  have  been  daring 
enough  to  set  down  to  sentimental  recollec- 
tions), "  Is  she  releegious  ?  "  he  asked,  and 
was  shortly  after,  at  his  own  request,  pre- 
sented. The  acquaintance,  which  it  seems 
profane  to  call  a  courtship,  was  pursued  with 
Mr.  Weir's  accustomed  industry,  and  was 
long  a  legend,  or  rather  a  source  of  legends, 
in  the  Parliament  House.  He  was  described 
coming,  rosy  with  much  port,  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, walking  direct  up  to  the  lady,  and 
assailing  her  with  pleasantries,  to  which  the 
embarrassed  fair  one  responded,  in  what 
seemed  a  kind  of  agony,  "  Eh,  Mr.  Weir  !  " 
or  "O,  Mr.  Weir!"  or  "Keep  me,  Mr. 
Weir  !  "  On  the  very  eve  of  their  engage- 
ment it  was  related  that  one  had  drawn  near 
to  the  tender  couple,  and  had  overheard  the 
lady  cry  out,  with  the  tones  of  one  who 
talked  for  the  sake  of  talking,  "  Keep  me, 
Mr.  Weir,  and  what  became  of  him  ?  "  and 
the  profound  accents  of  the  suitor's  reply, 
"  Haangit,  mem,  haangit."  The  motives 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF   MRS.  WEIR     9 

upon  either  side  were  much  debated.  Mr. 
Weir  must  have  supposed  his  bride  to  be 
somehow  suitable ;  perhaps  he  belonged  to 
that  class  of  men  who  think  a  weak  head  the 
ornament  of  women — an  opinion  invariably 
punished  in  this  life.  Her  descent  and  her 
estate  were  beyond  question.  Her  wayfaring 
ancestors  and  her  litigious  father  had  done 
well  by  Jean.  There  was  ready  money  and 
there  were  broad  acres,  ready  to  fall  wholly 
to  the  husband,  to  lend  dignity  to  his  de- 
scendants, and  to  himself  a  title,  when  he 
should  be  called  upon  the  Bench.  On  the 
side  of  Jean  there  was  perhaps  some  fascina- 
tion of  curiosity  as  to  this  unknown  male 
animal  that  approached  her  with  the  rough- 
ness of  a  ploughman  and  the  aplomb  of  an 
advocate.  Being  so  trenchantly  opposed  to  all 
she  knew,  loved  or  understood,  he  may  well 
have  seemed  to  her  the  extreme,  if  scarcely 
the  ideal,  of  his  sex.  And  besides,  he  was  an 
ill  man  to  refuse.  A  little  over  forty  at  the 
period  of  his  marriage,  he  looked  already 
older,  and  to  the  force  of  manhood  added  the 
senatorial  dignity  of  years ;  it  was,  perhaps, 


io  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

with  an  unreverend  awe,  but  he  was  awful. 
The  Bench,  the  Bar,  and  the  most  experi- 
enced and  reluctant  witness,  bowed  to  his 
authority — and  why  not  Jeannie  Rutherford  ? 
The  heresy  about  foolish  women  is  always 
punished,  I  have  said,  and  Lord  Hermiston 
began  to  pay  the  penalty  at  once.  His  house 
in  George  Square  was  wretchedly  ill-guided  ; 
nothing  answerable  to  the  expense  of  main- 
tenance but  the  cellar,  which  was  his  own 
private  care.  When  things  went  wrong  at 
dinner,  as  they  continually  did,  my  lord 
would  look  up  the  table  at  his  wife :  "  I 
think  these  broth  would  be  better  to  swim  in 
than  to  sup."  Or  else  to  the  butler : 
"  Here,  M'Killop,  awa'  wi'  this  Raadical 
gigot — tak'  it  to  the  French,  man,  and  bring 
me  some  puddocks  !  It  seems  rather  a  sore 
kind  of  a  business  that  I  should  be  all  day  in 
Court  haanging  Raadicals,  and  get  nawthing 
to  my  denner."  Of  course  this  was  but  a 
manner  of  speaking,  and  he  had  never  hanged 
a  man  for  being  a  Radical  in  his  life ;  the 
law,  of  which  he  was  the  faithful  minister, 
directing  otherwise.  And  of  course  these 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR     n 

growls  were  in  the  nature  of  pleasantry,  but 
it  was  of  a  recondite  sort ;  and  uttered  as 
they  were  in  his  resounding  voice,  and  com- 
mented on  by  that  expression  which  they 
called  in  the  Parliament  House  "  Hermiston's 
hanging  face " — they  struck  mere  dismay 
into  the  wife.  She  sat  before  him  speechless 
and  fluttering ;  at  each  dish,  as  at  a  fresh 
ordeal,  her  eye  hovered  toward  my  lord's 
countenance  and  fell  again ;  if  he  but  ate  in 
silence,  unspeakable  relief  was  her  portion ; 
if  there  were  complaint,  the  world  was 
darkened.  She  would  seek  out  the  cook, 
who  was  always  her  sister  in  the  Lord.  "  O, 
my  dear,  this  is  the  most  dreidful  thing  that 
my  lord  can  never  be  contented  in  his  own 
house  ! "  she  would  begin ;  and  weep  and 
pray  with  the  cook ;  and  then  the  cook 
would  pray  with  Mrs.  Weir;  and  the  next 
day's  meal  would  never  be  a  penny  the 
better — and  the  next  cook  (when  she  came) 
would  be  worse,  if  anything,  but  just  as 
pious.  It  was  often  wondered  that  Lord 
Hermiston  bore  it  as  he  did ;  indeed  he  was 
a  stoical  old  voluptuary,  contented  with  sound 


12  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

wine  and  plenty  of  it.  But  there  were  mo- 
ments when  he  overflowed.  Perhaps  half  a 
dozen  times  in  the  history  of  his  married 
life — "  Here  !  talc'  it  awa',  and  bring  me  a 
piece  bread  and  kebbuck  !  "  he  had  exclaimed, 
with  an  appalling  explosion  of  his  voice  and 
rare  gestures.  None  thought  to  dispute  or 
to  make  excuses ;  the  service  was  arrested ; 
Mrs.  Weir  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table 
whimpering  without  disguise ;  and  his  lord- 
ship opposite  munched  his  bread  and  cheese 
in  ostentatious  disregard.  Once  only,  Mrs. 
Weir  had  ventured  to  appeal.  He  was  pass- 
ing her  chair  on  his  way  into  the  study. 

"  O,  Edom  !  "  she  wailed,  in  a  voice  tragic 
with  tears,  and  reaching  out  to  him  both  hands, 
in  one  of  which  she  held  a  sopping  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

He  paused  and  looked  upon  her  with  a 
face  of  wrath,  into  which  there  stole,  as  he 
looked,  a  twinkle  of  humour. 

"  Noansense  !  "  he  said.  "  You  and  your 
noansense  !  What  do  I  want  with  a  Chris- 
tian faim'ly  ?  I  want  Christian  broth  !  Get 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR     13 

me  a  lass  that  can  plain  boil  a  potato,  if  she 
was  a  whiire  off  the  streets."  And  with  these 
words,  which  echoed  in  her  tender  ears  like 
blasphemy,  he  had  passed  on  to  his  study  and 
shut  the  door  behind  him. 

Such  was  the  housewifery  in  George 
Square.  It  was  better  at  Hermiston,  where 
Kirstie  Elliot,  the  sister  of  a  neighbour- 
ing bonnet-laird,  and  an  eighteenth  cousin 
of  the  lady's,  bore  the  charge  of  all,  and  kept 
a  trim  house  and  a  good  country  table. 
Kirstie  was  a  woman  in  a  thousand,  clean, 
capable,  notable ;  once  a  moorland  Helen, 
and  still  comely  as  a  blood  horse  and  healthy 
as  the  hill  wind.  High  in  flesh  and  voice 
and  colour,  she  ran  the  house  with  her  whole 
intemperate  soul,  in  a  bustle,  not  without 
buffets.  Scarce  more  pious  than  decency  in 
those  days  required,  she  was  the  cause  of 
many  an  anxious  thought  and  many  a  tearful 
prayer  to  Mrs.  Weir.  Housekeeper  and 
mistress  renewed  the  parts  of  Martha  and 
Mary  ;  and  though  with  a  pricking  conscience, 
Mary  reposed  on  Martha's  strength  as  on  a 


H  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

rock.  Even  Lord  Hermiston  held  Kirstie  in 
a  particular  regard.  There  were  few  with 
whom  he  unbent  so  gladly,  few  whom  he 
favoured  with  so  many  pleasantries.  "Kirstie 
and  me  maun  have  our  joke,"  he  would  de- 
clare, in  high  good-humour,  as  he  buttered 
Kirstie's  scones  and  she  waited  at  table.  A 
man  who  had  no  need  either  of  love  or  of 
popularity,  a  keen  reader  of  men  and  of  events, 
there  was  perhaps  only  one  truth  for  which 
he  was  quite  unprepared  :  he  would  have  been 
quite  unprepared  to  learn  that  Kirstie  hated 
him.  He  thought  maid  and  master  were 
well  matched ;  hard,  handy,  healthy,  broad 
Scots  folk,  without  a  hair  of  nonsense  to  the 
pair  of  them.  And  the  fact  was  that  she 
made  a  goddess  and  an  only  child  of  the  effete 
and  tearful  lady ;  and  even  as  she  waited  at 
table  her  hands  would  sometimes  itch  for  my 
lord's  ears. 

Thus,  at  least,  when  the  family  were  at 
Hermiston,  not  only  my  lord,  but  Mrs.  Weir 
too,  enjoyed  a  holiday.  Free  from  the 
dreadful  looking-for  of  the  miscarried  dinner, 
she  would  mind  her  seam,  read  her  piety 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR     *5 

books,  and  take  her  walk  (which  was  my 
lord's  orders),  sometimes  by  herself,  some- 
times with  Archie,  the  only  child  of  that 
scarce  natural  union.  The  child  was  her 
next  bond  to  life.  Her  frosted  sentiment 
bloomed  again,  she  breathed  deep  of  life, 
she  let  loose  her  heart,  in  that  society.  The 
miracle  of  her  motherhood  was  ever  new  to 
her.  The  sight  of  the  little  man  at  her  skirt 
intoxicated  her  with  the  sense  of  power,  and 
froze  her  with  the  consciousness  of  her  re- 
sponsibility. She  looked  forward,  and,  see- 
ing him  in  fancy  grow  up  and  play  his  diverse 
part  on  the  world's  theatre,  caught  in  her 
breath  and  lifted  up  her  courage  with  a  lively 
effort.  It  was  only  with  the  child  that  she 
forgot  herself  and  was  at  moments  natural ; 
yet  it  was  only  with  the  child  that  she  had 
conceived  and  managed  to  pursue  a  scheme 
of  conduct.  Archie  was  to  be  a  great  man 
and  a  good ;  a  minister  if  possible,  a  saint 
for  certain.  She  tried  to  engage  his  mind 
upon  her  favourite  books,  Rutherford's  "  Let- 
ters," Scougal's  "  Grace  Abounding,"  and 
the  like.  It  was  a  common  practice  of  hers 


16  WEIR   OF  HERMISTON 

(and  strange  to  remember  now)  that  she 
would  carry  the  child  to  the  Deil's  Hags,  sit 
with  him  on  the  Praying  Weaver's  stone  and 
talk  of  the  Covenanters  till  their  tears  ran 
down.  Her  view  of  history  was  wholly  art- 
less, a  design  in  snow  and  ink  ;  upon  the  one 
side,  tender  innocents  with  psalms  upon  their 
lips  ;  upon  the  other,  the  persecutors,  booted, 
bloody-minded,  flushed  with  wine  ;  a  suffer- 
ing Christ,  a  raging  Beelzebub.  Persecutor 
was  a  word  that  knocked  upon  the  woman's 
heart ;  it  was  her  highest  thought  of  wicked- 
ness, and  the  mark  of  it  was  on  her  house. 
Her  great-great-grandfather  had  drawn  the 
sword  against  the  Lord's  anointed  on  the  field 
of  Rullion  Green,  and  breathed  his  last  (tra- 
dition said)  in  the  arms  of  the  detestable 
Dalyell.  Nor  could  she  blind  herself  to  this, 
that  had  they  lived  in  these  old  days,  Hermis- 
ton  himself  would  have  been  numbered 
alongside  of  Bloody  MacKenzie  and  the  pol- 
itic Lauderdale  and  Rothes,  in  the  band  of 
God's  immediate  enemies.  The  sense  of 
this  moved  her  to  the  more  fervor ;  she  had 
a  voice  for  that  name  of  persecutor  that  thrilled 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR     17 

in  the  child's  marrow ;  and  when  one  day 
the  mob  hooted  and  hissed  them  all  in  my 
lord's  traveling  carriage,  and  cried,  "Down 
with  the  persecutor !  down  with  Hanging 
Hermiston  !  "  and  mamma  covered  her  eyes 
and  wept,  and  papa  let  down  the  glass  and 
looked  out  upon  the  rabble  with  his  droll 
formidable  face,  bitter  and  smiling,  as  they 
said  he  sometimes  looked  when  he  gave 
sentence,  Archie  was  for  the  moment  too 
much  amazed  to  be  alarmed,  but  he  had 
scarce  got  his  mother  by  herself  before  his 
shrill  voice  was  raised  demanding  an  expla- 
nation ;  why  had  they  called  papa  a  perse- 
cutor ? 

"  Keep  me,  my  precious  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Keep  me,  my  dear  !  this  is  poleetical.  Ye 
must  never  ask  me  anything  poleetical, 
Erchie.  Your  faither  is  a  great  man,  my 
dear,  and  it 's  no  for  me  or  you  to  be  judg- 
ing him.  It  would  be  telling  us  all  if  we 
behaved  ourselves  in  our  several  stations  the 
way  your  faither  does  in  his  high  office ;  and 
let  me  hear  no  more  of  any  such  disrespect- 
ful and  undutiful  questions  !  No  that  you 


i8  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

meant  to  be  undutiful,  my  lamb ;  your 
mother  kens  that  —  she  kens  it  well,  dearie!" 
and  so  slid  off  to  safer  topics,  and  left  on  the 
mind  of  the  child  an  obscure  but  ineradic- 
able sense  of  something  wrong. 

Mrs.  Weir's  philosophy  of  life  was 
summed  in  one  expression  —  tenderness.  In 
her  view  of  the  universe,  which  was  all 
lighted  up  with  a  glow  out  of  the  doors  of 
hell,  good  people  must  walk  there  in  a  kind 
of  ecstasy  of  tenderness.  The  beasts  and 
plants  had  no  souls ;  they  were  here  but  for 
a  day,  and  let  their  day  pass  gently  !  And  as 
for  the  immortal  men,  on  what  black,  down- 
ward path  were  many  of  them  wending,  and 
to  what  a  horror  of  an  immortality  !  "  Are 
not  two  sparrows,"  "  Whosoever  shall  smite 
thee,"  "  God  sendeth  His  rain,"  "  Judge  not 
that  ye  be  not  judged"  —  these  texts  made 
her  body  of  divinity ;  she  put  them  on  in 
the  morning  with  her  clothes  and  lay  down 
to  sleep  with  them  at  night ;  they  haunted 
her  like  a  favourite  air,  they  clung  about  her 
like  a  favourite  perfume.  Their  minister 
was  a  marrowy  expounder  of  the  law,  and 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR     19 

my  lord  sat  under  him  with  relish  ;  but  Mrs. 
Weir  respected  him  from  far  off;  heard  him 
(like  the  cannon  of  a  beleaguered  city)  use- 
fully booming  outside  on  the  dogmatic  ram- 
parts ;  and  meanwhile,  within  and  out  of 
shot,  dwelt  in  her  private  garden  which  she 
watered  with  grateful  tears.  It  seems  strange 
to  say  of  this  colourless  and  ineffectual 
woman,  but  she  was  a  true  enthusiast,  and 
might  have  made  the  sunshine  and  the  glory 
of  a  cloister.  Perhaps  none  but  Archie 
knew  she  could  be  eloquent ;  perhaps  none 
but  he  had  seen  her  —  her  colour  raised,  her 
hands  clasped  or  quivering  —  glow  with 
gentle  ardour.  There  is  a  corner  of  the 
policy  of  Hermiston,  where  you  come  sud- 
denly in  view  of  the  summit  of  Black  Fell, 
sometimes  like  the  mere  grass  top  of  a  hill, 
sometimes  (and  this  is  her  own  expression) 
like  a  precious  jewel  in  the  heavens.  On 
such  days,  upon  the  sudden  view  of  it,  her 
hand  would  tighten  on  the  child's  fingers, 
her  voice  rise  like  a  song.  "  I  to  the  hills  !" 
she  would  repeat.  "And  O,  Erchie, are  nae 


20  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

these  like  the  hills  of  Naphtali  ?  "  and  her 
easy  tears  would  flow. 

Upon  an  impressionable  child  the  effect  of 
this  continual  and  pretty  accompaniment  to 
life  was  deep.  The  woman's  quietism  and 
piety  passed  on  to  his  different  nature  undi- 
minished ;  but  whereas  in  her  it  was  a  native 
sentiment,  in  him  it  was  only  an  implanted 
dogma.  Nature  and  the  child's  pugnacity  at 
times  revolted.  A  cad  from  the  Potterrow 
once  struck  him  in  the  mouth ;  he  struck 
back,  the  pair  fought  it  out  in  the  back  stable 
lane  towards  the  Meadows,  and  Archie  re- 
turned with  a  considerable  decline  in  the 
number  of  his  front  teeth,  and  unregener- 
ately  boasting  of  the  losses  of  the  foe.  It 
was  a  sore  day  for  Mrs.  Weir ;  she  wept 
and  prayed  over  the  infant  backslider  until 
my  lord  was  due  from  court,  and  she  must 
resume  that  air  of  tremulous  composure  with 
which  she  always  greeted  him.  The  judge 
was  that  day  in  an  observant  mood,  and  re- 
marked upon  the  absent  teeth. 

"  I  am  afraid  Erchie  will  have  been  fecht- 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR     21 

ing  with  some  of  they  blagyard  lads,"  said 
Mrs.  Weir. 

My  lord's  voice  rang  out  as  it  did  seldom 
in  the  privacy  of  his  own  house.  "  I'll  have 
nonn  of  that,  sir ! "  he  cried.  "  Do  you 
hear  me  ? — nonn  of  that !  No  son  of  mine 
shall  be  speldering  in  the  glaur  with  any  dirty 
raibble." 

The  anxious  mother  was  grateful  for  so 
much  support ;  she  had  even  feared  the  con- 
trary. And  that  night  when  she  put  the 
child  to  bed — "  Now,  my  dear,  ye  see  !  "  she 
said,  "  I  told  you  what  your  faither  would 
think  of  it,  if  he  heard  ye  had  fallen  into 
this  dreidful  sin ;  and  let  you  and  me 
pray  to  God  that  ye  may  be  keepit  from 
the  like  temptation  or  stren'thened  to  resist 
it!" 

The  womanly  falsity  of  this  was  thrown 
away.  Ice  and  iron  cannot  be  welded; 
and  the  points  of  view  of  the  Justice- 
Clerk  and  Mrs.  Weir  were  not  less  unassim- 
ilable.  The  character  and  position  of  his 
-father  had  long  been  a  stumbling-block  to 


22  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

Archie,  and  with  every  year  of  his  age  the 
difficulty  grew  more  instant.  The  man  was 
mostly  silent ;  when  he  spoke  at  all,  it  was 
to  speak  of  the  things  of  the  world,  always  in 
a  worldly  spirit,  often  in  language  that  the 
child  had  been  schooled  to  think  coarse,  and 
sometimes  with  words  that  he  knew  to  be 
sins  in  themselves.  Tenderness  was  the 
first  duty,  and  my  lord  was  invariably  harsh. 
God  was  love ;  the  name  of  my  lord  (to  all 
who  knew  him)  was  fear.  In  the  world,  as 
schematised  for  Archie  by  his  mother,  the 
place  was  marked  for  such  a  creature.  There 
were  some  whom  it  was  good  to  pity  and 
well  (though  very  likely  useless)  to  pray  for; 
they  were  named  reprobates,  goats,  God's 
enemies,  brands  for  the  burning ;  and  Archie 
tallied  every  mark  of  identification,  and  drew 
the  inevitable  private  inference  that  the  Lord 
Justice-Clerk  was  the  chief  of  sinners. 

The  mother's  honesty  was  scarce  com- 
plete. There  was  one  influence  she  feared 
for  the  child  and  still  secretly  combated ; 
that  was  my  lord's ;  and  half  unconsciously, 
half  in  a  wilful  blindness,  she  continued  to 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR     23 

undermine  her  husband  with  his  son.  As 
long  as  Archie  remained  silent,  she  did  so 
ruthlessly,  with  a  single  eye  to  heaven  and 
the  child's  salvation ;  but  the  day  came  when 
Archie  spoke.  It  was  1801,  and  Archie  was 
seven,  and  beyond  his  years  for  curiosity  and 
logic,  when  he  brought  the  case  up  openly. 
If  judging  were  sinful  and  forbidden,  how 
came  papa  to  be  a  judge  ?  to  have  that  sin 
for  a  trade  ?  to  bear  the  name  of  it  for  a  dis- 
tinction ? 

"  I  can't  see  it,"  said  the  little  Rabbi,  and 
wagged  his  head. 

Mrs.  Weir  abounded  in  commonplace  re- 
plies. 

"  No,  I  cannae  see  it,"  reiterated  Archie. 
"  And  I'll  tell  you  what,  mamma,  I  don't 
think  you  and  me's  justifeed  in  staying  with 
him." 

The  woman  awoke  to  remorse ;  she  saw 
herself  disloyal  to  her  man,  her  sovereign  and 
bread-winner,  in  whom  (with  what  she  had  of 
worldliness)  she  took  a  certain  subdued  pride. 
-She  expatiated  in  reply  on  my  lord's  honour 
and  greatness ;  his  useful  services  in  this 


24  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

world  of  sorrow  and  wrong,  and  the  place  in 
which  he  stood,  far  above  where  babes  and 
innocents  could  hope  to  see  or  criticise.  But 
she  had  builded  too  well — Archie  had  his  an- 
swers pat :  Were  not  babes  and  innocents  the 
type  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ?  Were  not 
honour  and  greatness  the  badges  of  the  world  ? 
And  at  any  rate,  how  about  the  mob  that  had 
once  seethed  about  the  carriage  ? 

"  It's  all  very  fine,"  he  concluded,  "but  in 
my  opinion,  papa  has  no  right  to  be  it.  And 
it  seems  that's  not  the  worst  yet  of  it.  It 
seems  he's  called  'the  Hanging  Judge' — it 
seems  he's  crooool.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is, 
mamma,  there's  a  tex'  borne  in  upon  me  :  It 
were  better  for  that  man  if  a  milestone  were 
bound  upon  his  back  and  him  flung  into  the 
deepestmost  pairts  of  the  sea." 

"  O,  my  lamb,  ye  must  never  say  the  like 
of  that ! "  she  cried.  "  Ye're  to  honour 
faither  and  mother,  dear,  that  your  days  may 
be  long  in  the  land.  It's  Atheists  that  cry 
out  against  him — French  Atheists,  Erchie  ! 
Ye  would  never  surely  even  yourself  down  to 
be  saying  the  same  thing  as  French  Atheists  ? 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR    25 

It  would  break  my  heart  to  think  that  of  you. 
And  O,  Erchie,  here  are'na  you  setting  up  to 
judge  ?  And  have  ye  no  forgot  God's  plain 
command — the  First  with  Promise,  dear  ? 
Mind  you  upon  the  beam  and  the  mote  !  " 

Having  thus  carried  the  war  into  the 
enemy's  camp,  the  terrified  lady  breathed 
again.  And  no  doubt  it  is  easy  thus  to  circum- 
vent a  child  with  catchwords,  but  it  may  be 
questioned  how  far  it  is  effectual.  An  instinct 
in  his  breast  detects  the  quibble,  and  a  voice 
condemns  it.  He  will  instantly  submit, 
privately  hold  the  same  opinion.  For  even  in 
this  simple  and  antique  relation  of  the  mother 
and  the  child,  hypocrisies  are  multiplied. 

When  the  Court  rose  that  year  and  the 
family  returned  to  Hermiston,  it  was  a  com- 
mon remark  in  all  the  country  that  the  lady 
was  sore  failed.  She  seemed  to  loose  and 
seize  again  her  touch  with  life,  now  sitting 
inert  in  a  sort  of  durable  bewilderment,  anon 
waking  to  feverish  and  weak  activity.  She 
dawdled  about  the  lasses  at  their  work,  look- 
ing stupidly  on ;  she  fell  to  rummaging  in 
old  cabinets  and  presses,  and  desisted  when 


26  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

half  through  ;  she  would  begin  remarks  with 
an  air  of  animation  and  drop  them  without 
a  struggle.  Her  common  appearance  was  of 
one  who  has  forgotten  something  and  is  try- 
ing to  remember ;  and  when  she  overhauled, 
one  after  another,  the  worthless  and  touching 
mementoes  of  her  youth,  she  might  have 
been  seeking  the  clue  to  that  lost  thought. 
During  this  period  she  gave  many  gifts  to 
the  neighbours  and  house  lassies,  giving  them 
with  a  manner  of  regret  that  embarrassed 
the  recipients. 

The  last  night  of  all  she  was  busy  on 
some  female  work,  and  toiled  upon  it  with  so 
manifest  and  painful  a  devotion  that  my  lord 
(who  was  not  often  curious)  inquired  as  to 
its  nature. 

She  blushed  to  the  eyes.  "  O,  Edom,  it's 
for  you  !  "  she  said.  "  It's  slippers.  I — I 
hae  never  made  ye  any." 

"  Ye  daft  auld  wife  !  "  returned  his  lord- 
ship. "A  bonny  figure  I  would  be, palmer- 
ing  about  in  bauchles  !  " 

The  next  day,  at  the  hour  of  her   walk, 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR     27 

Kirstie  interfered.  Kirstie  took  this  decay 
of  her  mistress  very  hard  ;  bore  her  a  grudge, 
quarrelled  with  and  railed  upon  her,  the  anx- 
iety of  a  genuine  love  wearing  the  disguise 
of  temper.  This  day  of  all  days  she  insisted 
disrespectfully,  with  rustic  fury,  that  Mrs. 
Weir  should  stay  at  home.  But,  "  No,  no," 
she  said,  "  it's  my  lord's  orders,"  and  set 
forth  as  usual.  Archie  was  visible  in  the  acre 
bog,  engaged  upon  some  childish  enterprise, 
the  instrument  of  which  was  mire ;  and  she 
stood  and  looked  at  him  awhile  like  one 
about  to  call ;  then  thought  otherwise,  sighed, 
and  shook  her  head,  and  proceeded  on  her 
rounds  alone.  The  house  lassies  were  at  the 
burnside  washing,  and  saw  her  pass  with  her 
loose,  weary,  dowdy  gait. 

"  She's  a  terrible  feckless  wife,  the  mis- 
tress !  "  said  the  one. 

"  Tut,"  said  the  other,  "  the  wumman's 
seeck." 

"  Weel,  I  canna  see  nae  differ  in  her,"  re- 
turned the  first.  "  A  fiishionless  quean,  a 
feckless  carline." 


28  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

The  poor  creature  thus  discussed  rambled 
a  while  in  the  grounds  without  a  purpose. 
Tides  in  her  mind  ebbed  and  flowed,  and  car- 
ried her  to  and  fro  like  seaweed.  She  tried  a 
path,  paused,  returned,  and  tried  another ; 
questing,  forgetting  her  quest ;  the  spirit 
of  choice  extinct  in  her  bosom,  or  devoid 
of  sequency.  On  a  sudden,  it  appeared  as 
though  she  had  remembered,  or  had  formed  a 
resolution,  wheeled  about,  returned  with  hur- 
ried steps,  and  appeared  in  the  dining-room, 
where  Kirstie  was  at  the  cleaning,  like  one 
charged  with  an  important  errand. 

"  Kirstie  !  "  she  began,  and  paused  ;  and 
then  with  conviction,  "  Mr.  Weir  isna 
speeritually  minded,  but  he  has  been  a  good 
man  to  me." 

It  was  perhaps  the  first  time  since  her 
husband's  elevation  that  she  had  forgotten 
the  handle  to  his  name,  of  which  the  tender, 
inconsistent  woman  was  not  a  little  .rproud. 
And  when  Kirstie  looked  up  at  the  speaker's 
face,  she  was  aware  of  a  change. 

"  Godsake,    what's     the    maitter    wi'    ye, 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR     29 

mem  ? "  cried  the  housekeeper,  starting  from 
the  rug. 

"  I  do  not  ken,"  answered  her  mistress, 
shaking  her  head.  "  But  he  is  not  speeritu- 
ally  minded,  my  dear." 

"  Here,  sit  down  with  ye  !  Godsake,  what 
ails  the  wife  ? "  cried  Kirstie,  and  helped  and 
forced  her  into  my  lord's  own  chair  by  the 
cheek  of  the  hearth. 

"Keep  me,  what's  this?"  she  gasped. 
"  Kirstie,  what's  this  ?  I'm  frich'ened." 

They  were  her  last  words. 

It  was  the  lowering  nightfall  when  my 
lord  returned.  He  had  the  sunset  in  his  back, 
all  clouds  and  glory ;  and  before  him,  by  the 
wayside,  spied  Kirstie  Elliott  waiting.  She 
was  dissolved  in  tears,  and  addressed  him  in 
the  high,  false  note  of  barbarous  mourning, 
such  as  still  lingers  modified  among  Scots 
heather. 

"  The  Lord  peety  ye,  Hermiston !  the 
Lord  prepare  ye  !  "  she  keened  out.  "  Weary 
upon  me,  that  I  should  have  to  tell  it !  " 

He  reined  in  his  horse  and  looked  upon 
her  with  the  hanging  face. 


30  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

"  Has  the  French  landit  ?  "  cried  he. 

"  Man,  man,"  she  said,  "  is  that  a'  ye 
can  think  of?  The  Lord  prepare  ye,  the 
Lord  comfort  and  support  ye ! " 

"  Is  onybody  deid  ? "  says  his  lordship. 
"  It's  no  Erchie  ?  " 

"  Bethankit,  no  !  "  exclaimed  the  woman, 
startled  into  a  more  natural  tone.  "  Na,  na, 
it's  no  sae  bad  as  that.  It's  the  mistress,  my 
lord ;  she  just  fair  flittit  before  my  e'en.  She 
just  gi'ed  a  sab  and  was  by  with  it.  Eh,  my 
bonny  Miss  Jeannie,  that  I  mind  sae  weel ! " 
And  forth  again  upon  that  pouring  tide  of 
lamentation  in  which  women  of  her  class  ex- 
cel and  overabound. 

Lord  Hermiston  sat  in  the  saddle  behold- 
ing her.  Then  he  seemed  to  recover  com- 
mand upon  himself. 

"  Weel,  it's  something  of  the  suddenest," 
said  he.  "  But  she  was  a  dwaibly  body  from 
the  first." 

And  he  rode  home  at  a  precipitate  amble 
with  Kirstie  at  his  horse's  heels. 

Dressed  as  she  was  for  her  last  walk,  they 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MRS.  WEIR    31 

had  laid  the  dead  lady  on  her  bed.  She  was 
never  interesting  in  life  ;  in  death  she  was 
not  impressive ;  and  as  her  husband  stood 
before  her,  with  his  hands  crossed  behind 
his  powerful  back,  that  which  he  looked 
upon  was  the  very  image  of  the  insignifi- 
cant. 

"  Her  and  me  were  never  cut  out  for  one 
another,"  he  remarked  at  last.  "  It  was  a 
daft-like  marriage."  And  then,  with  a  most 
unusual  gentleness  of  tone,  "  Puir  bitch," 
said  he,  "  puir  bitch  !  "  Then  suddenly: 
"  Where's  Erchie  ?  " 

Kirstie  had  decoyed  him  to  her  room  and 
given  him  "a  jeely-piece." 

"  Ye  have  some  kind  of  gumption,  too," 
observed  the  Judge,  and  considered  his  house- 
keeper grimly.  "  When  all's  said,"  he  added, 
"  I  micht  have  done  waur — I  micht  have 
been  marriet  upon  a  skirling  Jezebel  like 
you  ! " 

"  There's  naebody  thinking  of  you,  Her- 
miston  !  "  cried  the  offended  woman.  "  We 
think  of  her  that's  out  of  her  sorrows.  And 
could  she  have  done  waur  ?  Tell  me  that, 


32  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

Hermiston — tell  me  that  before  her  clay-cauld 
corp  !  " 

"  Weel,  there's  some  of  them  gey   an'  ill 
to  please,"  observed  his  lordship. 


Chapter  II 

FATHER    AND    SON 

My  Lord  Justice-Clerk  was  known  to 
many  ;  the  man  Adam  Weir  perhaps  to  none. 
He  had  nothing  to  explain  or  to  conceal ;  he 
sufficed  wholly  and  silently  to  himself;  and 
that  part  of  our  nature  which  goes  out  (too 
often  with  false  coin)  to  acquire  glory  or  love, 
seemed  in  him  to  be  omitted.  He  did  not  try 
to  be  loved,  he  did  not  care  to  be ;  it  is  prob- 
able the  very  thought  of  it  was  a  stranger  to 
his  mind.  He  was  an  admired  lawyer,  a 
highly  unpopular  judge  ;  and  he  looked  down 
upon  those  who  were  his  inferiors  in  either 
distinction,  who  were  lawyers  of  less  grasp  or 
judges  not  so  much  detested.  In  all  the  rest 
of  his  days  and  doings,  not  one  trace  of  vanity 
appeared  ;  and  he  went  on  through  life  with 
a  mechanical  movement,  as  of  the  uncon- 
scious, that  was  almost  august. 
33 


34  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

He  saw  little  of  his  son,  In  the  childish 
maladies  with  which  the  boy  was  troubled,  he 
would  make  daily  inquiries  and  daily  pay  him 
a  visit,  entering  the  sick-room  with  a  facetious 
and  appalling  countenance,  letting  off  a  few 
perfunctory  jests,  and  going  again  swiftly,  to 
the  patient's  relief.  Once,  a  court  holiday 
falling  opportunely,  my  lord  had  his  carriage, 
and  drove  the  child  himself  to  Hermiston,  the 
customary  place  of  convalescence.  It  is  con- 
ceivable he  had  been  more  than  usually  anx- 
ious, for  that  journey  always  remained  in 
Archie's  memory  as  a  thing  apart,  his  father 
having  related  to  him  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  with  much  detail,  three  authentic  murder 
cases.  Archie  went  the  usual  round  of  other 
Edinburgh  boys,  the  high  school  and  the  col- 
lege ;  and  Hermiston  looked  on,  or  rather 
looked  away,  with  scarce  an  affectation  of 
interest  in  his  progress.  Daily,  indeed,  upon 
a  signal  after  dinner,  he  was  brought  in,  given 
nuts  and  a  glass  of  port,  regarded  sardonically, 
sarcastically  questioned.  "  Well,  sir,  and 
what  have  you  donn  with  your  book  to-day  ?" 
my  lord  might  begin,  and  set  him  posers  in 


FATHER  AND  SON  35 

law  Latin.  To  a  child  just  stumbling  into 
Corderius,  Papinian  and  Paul  proved  quite  in- 
vincible. But  papa  had  memory  of  no  other. 
He  was  not  harsh  to  the  little  scholar,  having 
a  vast  fund  of  patience  learned  upon  the 
bench,  and  was  at  no  pains  whether  to  con- 
ceal or  to  express  his  disappointment.  "Well, 
ye  have  a  long  jaunt  before  ye  yet !"  he  might 
observe,  yawning,  and  fall  back  on  his  own 
thoughts  (as  like  as  not)  until  the  time  came 
for  separation,  and  my  lord  would  take  the 
decanter  and  the  glass,  and  be  off  to  the  back 
chamber  looking  on  the  Meadows,  where  he 
toiled  on  his  cases  till  the  hours  were  small. 
There  was  no  "  fuller  man  "  on  the  Bench  ; 
his  memory  was  marvellous,  though  wholly 
legal ;  if  he  had  to  "  advise  "  extempore,  none 
did  it  better;  yet  there  was  none  who  more 
earnestly  prepared.  As  he  thus  watched  in 
the  night,  or  sat  at  table  and  forgot  the  pre- 
sence of  his  son,  no  doubt  but  he  tasted 
deeply  of  recondite  pleasures.  To  be  wholly 
devoted  to  some  intellectual  exercise  is  to 
have  succeeded  in  life ;  and  perhaps  only  in 
law  and  the  higher  mathematics  may  this  de- 


36  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

votion  be  maintained,  suffice  to  itself  without 
reaction,  and  find  continual  rewards  without 
excitement.  This  atmosphere  of  his  father's 
sterling  industry  was  the  best  of  Archie's 
education.  Assuredly  it  did  not  attract  him  ; 
assuredly  it  rather  rebutted  and  depressed. 
Yet  it  was  still  present,  unobserved  like  the 
ticking  of  a  clock,  an  arid  ideal,  a  tasteless 
stimulant  in  the  boy's  life. 

But  Hermiston  was  not  all  of  one  piece. 
He  was,  besides,  a  mighty  toper ;  he  could  sit 
at  wine  until  the  day  dawned,  and  pass  di- 
rectly from  the  table  to  the  Bench  with  a 
steady  hand  and  a  clear  head.  Beyond  the 
third  bottle,  he  showed  the  plebeian  in  a 
larger  print ;  the  low,  gross  accent,  the  low, 
foul  mirth,  grew  broader  and  commoner  ;  he 
became  less  formidable,  and  infinitely  more 
disgusting.  Now,  the  boy  had  inherited  from 
Jean  Rutherford  a  shivering  delicacy,  un- 
equally mated  with  potential  violence.  In 
the  playing-fields,  and  amongst  his  own  com- 
panions, he  repaid  a  coarse  expression  with  a 
blow ;  at  his  father's  table  (when  the  time 
came  for  him  to  join  these  revels)  he  turned 


FATHER  AND  SON  37 

pale  and  sickened  in  silence.  Of  all  the 
guests  whom  he  there  encountered,  he  had 
toleration  for  only  one  :  David  Keith  Car- 
negie, Lord  Glenalmond.  Lord  Glenalmond 
was  tall  and  emaciated,  with  long  features 
and  long  delicate  hands.  He  was  often  com- 
pared with  the  statue  of  Forbes  of  Culloden 
in  the  Parliament  House ;  and  his  blue  eye, 
at  more  than  sixty,  preserved  some  of  the 
fire  of  youth.  His  exquisite  disparity  with 
any  of  his  fellow  guests,  his  appearance  as  of 
an  artist  and  an  aristocrat  stranded  in  rude 
company,  riveted  the  boy's  attention ;  and 
as  curiosity  and  interest  are  the  things  in  the 
world  that  are  the  most  immediately  and  cer- 
tainly rewarded,  Lord  Glenalmond  was 
attracted  to  the  boy. 

"  And  so  this  is  your  son,  Hermiston  ?"  he 
asked,  laying  his  hand  on  Archie's  shoulder. 
"  He's  getting  a  big  lad." 

u  Hout !  "  said  the  gracious  father,  "just 
his  mother  over  again  —  daurna  say  boo  to  a 
goose !" 

But  the  stranger  retained  the  boy,  talked 
to  him,  drew  him  out,  found  in  him  a  taste 


38  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

for  letters,  and  a  fine,  ardent,  modest,  youth- 
ful soul ;  and  encouraged  him  to  be  a  visitor 
on  Sunday  evenings  in  his  bare,  cold,  lonely 
dining-room,  where  he  sat  and  read  in  the 
isolation  of  a  bachelor  grown  old  in  refine- 
ment. The  beautiful  gentleness  and  grace 
of  the  old  Judge,  and  the  delicacy  of  his  per- 
son, thoughts,  and  language,  spoke  to  Archie's 
heart  in  its  own  tongue.  He  conceived  the 
ambition  to  be  such  another  ;  and.  when  the 
day  came  for  him  to  choose  a  profession,  it 
was  in  emulation  of  Lord  Glenalmond,  not 
of  Lord  Hermiston,  that  he  chose  the  Bar. 
Hermiston  looked  on  at  this  friendship  with 
some  secret  pride,  but  openly  with  the  intol- 
erance of  scorn.  He  scarce  lost  an  oppor- 
tunity to  put  them  down  with  a  rough  jape  ; 
and,  to  say  truth,  it  was  not  difficult,  for  they 
were  neither  of  them  quick.  He  had  a  word 
of  contempt  for  the  whole  crowd  of  poets, 
painters,  fiddlers,  and  their  admirers,  the  bas- 
tard race  of  amateurs,  which  was  continually 
on  his  lips.  "  Signer  Feedle-eerie  ! "  he 
would  say.  "  Oh,  for  Goad's  sake,  no  more 
of  the  Signer  !  " 


FATHER  AND   SON  39 

"  You  and  my  father  are  great  friends,  are 
you  not  ?  "  asked  Archie  once. 

"  There  is  no  man  that  I  more  respect, 
Archie,"  replied  Lord  Glenalmond.  "  He  is 
two  things  of  price.  He  is  a  great  lawyer, 
and  he  is  upright  as  the  day." 

"  You  and  he  are  so  different,"  said  the 
boy,  his  eyes  dwelling  on  those  of  his  old 
friend,  like  a  lover's  on  his  mistress's. 

"  Indeed  so,"  replied  the  Judge  ;  "  very 
different.  And  so  I  fear  are  you  and  he. 
Yet  I  would  like  it  very  ill  if  my  young  friend 
were  to  misjudge  his  father.  He  has  all  the 
Roman  virtues  :  Cato  and  Brutus  were  such  ; 
I  think  a  son's  heart  might  well  be  proud  of 
such  an  ancestry  of  one." 

"  And  I  would  sooner  he  were  a  plaided 
herd,"  cried  Archie,  with  sudden  bitterness. 

"  And  that  is  neither  very  wise,  nor  I  be- 
lieve entirely  true,"  returned  Glenalmond. 
"  Before  you  are  done  you  will  find  some  of 
these  expressions  rise  on  you  like  a  remorse. 
They  are  merely  literary  and  decorative ; 
they  do  not  aptly  express  your  thought,  nor 
is  your  thought  clearly  apprehended,  and  no 


40  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

doubt  your  father  (if  he  were  here)  would 
say  c  Signer  Feedle-eerie  ! ' ' 

With  the  infinitely  delicate  sense  of  youth, 
Archie  avoided  the  subject  from  that  hour. 
It  was  perhaps  a  pity.  Had  he  but  talked — 
talked  freely — let  himself  gush  out  in  words 
(the  way  youth  loves  to  do  and  should),  there 
might  have  been  no  tale  to  write  upon  the 
Weirs  of  Hermiston.  But  the  shadow  of  a 
threat  of  ridicule  sufficed  ;  in  the  slight  tart- 
ness of  these  words  he  read  a  prohibition  ; 
and  it  is  likely  that  Glenalmond  meant  it  so. 

Besides  the  veteran,  the  boy  was  without 
confidant  or  friend.  Serious  and  eager,  he 
came  through  school  and  college,  and  moved 
among  a  crowd  of  the  indifferent,  in  the 
seclusion  of  his  shyness.  He  grew  up  hand- 
some, with  an  open,  speaking  countenance, 
with  graceful,  youthful  ways ;  he  was  clever, 
he  took  prizes,  he  shone  in  the  Speculative 
Society.  It  should  seem  he  must  become  the 
centre  of  a  crowd  of  friends ;  but  something 
that  was  in  part  the  delicacy  of  his  mother, 
in  part  the  austerity  of  his  father,  held  him 
aloof  from  all.  It  is  a  fact,  and  a  strange 


FATHER  AND   SON  41 

one,  that  among  his  contemporaries  Hermis- 
ton's  son  was  thought  to  be  a  chip  of  the  old 
block.  "  You're  a  friend  of  Archie  Weir's  ?" 
said  one  to  Frank  Innes ;  and  Innes  replied, 
with  his  usual  flippancy  and  more  than  his 
usual  insight :  "  I  know  Weir,  but  I  never 
met  Archie."  No  one  had  met  Archie,  a 
malady  most  incident  to  only  sons.  He  flew 
his  private  signal,  and  none  heeded  it ;  it 
seemed  he  was  abroad  in  a  world  from  which 
the  very  hope  of  intimacy  was  banished  ;  and 
he  looked  round  about  him  on  the  concourse 
of  his  fellow-students,  and  forward  to  the 
trivial  days  and  acquaintances  that  were  to 
come,  without  hope  or  interest. 

As  time  went  on,  the  tough  and  rough  old 
sinner  felt  himself  drawn  to  the  son  of  his 
loins  and  sole  continuator  of  his  new  family, 
with  softnesses  of  sentiment  that  he  could 
hardly  credit  and  was  wholly  impotent  to  ex- 
press. With  a  face,  voice  and  manner 
trained  through  forty  years  to  terrify  and 
repel,  Rhadamanthus  may  be  great,  but  he 
"  will  scarce  be  engaging.  It  is  a  fact  that  he 
tried  to  propitiate  Archie,  but  a  fact  that  can- 


42  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

not  be  too  lightly  taken  ;  the  attempt  was  so 
unconspicuously  made,  the  failure  so  stoically 
supported.  Sympathy  is  not  due  to  these 
steadfast  iron  natures.  If  he  failed  to  gain 
his  son's  friendship,  or  even  his  son's. tolera- 
tion, on  he  went  up  the  great,  bare  staircase 
of  his  duty,  uncheered  and  undepressed. 
There  might  have  been  more  pleasure  in  his 
relations  with  Archie,  so  much  he  may  have 
recognised  at  moments ;  but  pleasure  was  a 
by-product  of  the  singular  chemistry  of  life, 
which  only  fools  expected. 

An  idea  of  Archie's  attitude,  since  we  are 
all  grown  up  and  have  forgotten  the  days  of 
our  youth,  it  is  more  difficult  to  convey.  He 
made  no  attempt  whatsoever  to  understand  the 
man  with  whom  he  dined  and  breakfasted. 
Parsimony  of  pain,  glut  of  pleasure,  these 
are  the  two  alternating  'ends  of  youth  ;  and 
Archie  was  of  the  parsimonious.  The.wind 
blew  cold  out  of  a  certain  quarter — he 
turned  his  back  upon  it ;  stayed  as  little  as 
was  possible  in  his  father's  presence ;  and 
when  there,  averted  his  eyes  as  much  as  was 
decent  from  his  father's  face.  The  lamp 


FATHER  AND   SON  43 

shone  for  many  hundred  days  upon  these  two 
at  table  —  my  lord  ruddy,  gloomy,  and  un- 
reverent ;  Archie  with  a  potential  brightness 
that  was  always  dimmed  and  veiled  in  that 
society ;  and  there  were  not,  perhaps,  in 
Christendom  two  men  more  radically  stran- 
gers. The  father,  with  a  grand  simplicity, 
either  spoke  of  what  interested  himself,  or 
maintained  an  unaffected  silence.  The  son 
turned  in  his  head  for  some  topic  that  should 
be  quite  safe,  that  would  spare  him  fresh'  evi- 
dences either  of  my  lord's  inherent  gross- 
ness  or  of  the  innocence  of  his  inhumanity  j 
treading  gingerly  the  ways  of  intercourse,  like 
a  lady  gathering  up  her  skirts  in  a  by-path. 
If  he  made  a  mistake,  ^and  my  lord  began  to 
abound  in  matter  of  offence,  Archie  drew 
himself  up,  his  brow  grew  dark,  his  share  of 
the  talk  expired ;  but  my  lord  would  faith- 
fully and  cheerfully  continue  to  pour  out  the 
worst  of  himself  before  his  silent  and  of- 
fended son. 

"  Well,  it's  a  poor  hert  that  never  re- 
joices "  he  would  say,  at  the  conclusion  of 
such  a  nightmare  interview.  "  But  I  must 


44  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

get  to  my  plew-stilts."  And  he  would  se- 
clude himself  as  usual  in  the  back  room,  and 
Archie  go  forth  into  the  night  and  the  city 
quivering  with  animosity  and  scorn. 


Chapter  III 

IN    THE     MATTER    OF     THE    HANGING    OF 
DUNCAN    JOPP 

It  chanced  in  the  year  1813  that  Archie 
strayed  one  day  into  the  Judiciary  Court. 
The  macer  made  room  for  the  son  of  the 
presiding  judge.  In  the  dock,  the  centre  of 
men's  eyes,  there  stood  a  whey-coloured,  mis- 
begotten caitiff,  Duncan  Jopp,  on  trial  for  his 
life.  His  story,  as  it  was  raked  out  before 
him  in  that  public  scene,  was  one  of  disgrace 
and  vice  and  cowardice,  the  very  nakedness 
of  crime ;  and  the  creature  heard  and  it 
seemed  at  times  as  though  he  understood  — 
as  if  at  times  he  forgot  the  horror  of  the 
place  he  stood  in,  and  remembered  the  shame 
of  what  had  brought  him  there.  He  kept  his 
head  bowed  and  his  hands  clutched  upon  the 
rail ;  his  hair  dropped  in  his  eyes  and  at  times 
he  flung  it  back;  and  now  he  glanced  about 
the  audience  in  a  sudden  fellness  of  terror, 
45 


46  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

ana  now  looked  in  the  face  of  his  judge  and 
gulped.  There  was  pinned  about  his  throat 
a  piece  of  dingy  flannel;  and  this  it  was  per- 
haps that  turned  the  scale  in  Archie's  mind 
between  disgust  and  pity.  The  creature  stood 
in  a  vanishing  point;  yet  a  little  while,  and  he 
was  still  a  man,  and  had  eyes  and  apprehen- 
sion; yet  a  little  longer,  and  with  a  last  sordid 
piece  of  pageantry,  he  would  cease  to  be. 
And  here,  in  the  meantime,  with  a  trait  of 
human  nature  that  caught  at  the  beholder's 
breath,  he  was  tending  a  sore  throat. 

Over  against  him,  my  Lord  Hermiston  oc- 
cupied the  bench  in  the  red  robes  of  criminal 
jurisdiction,  his  face  framed  in  the  white  wig. 
Honest  all  through,  he  did  not  affect  the  virtue 
of  impartiality;  this  was  no  case  for  refine- 
ment; there  was  a  man  to  be  hanged,  he  would 
have  said,  and  he  was  hanging  him.  Nor 
was  it  possible  to  see  his  lordship,  and  acquit 
him  of  gusto  in  the  task.  It  was  plain  he 
gloried  in  the  exercise  of  his  trained  faculties, 
m  the  clear  sight  which  pierced  at  once  into 
the  joint  of  fact,  in  the  rude,  unvarnished 
jibes  with  which  he  demolished  every  figment 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     47 

of  defense.  He  took  his  ease  and  jested,  un- 
bending in  that  solemn  place  with  some  of 
the  freedom  of  the  tavern;  and  the  rag  of 
man  with  the  flannel  round  his  neck  was 
hunted  gallowsward  with  jeers. 

Duncan  had  a  mistress,  scarce  less  forlorn 
and  greatly  older  than  himself,  who  came  up, 
whimpering  and  curtseying,  to  add  the  weight 
of  her  betrayal.  My  lord  gave  her  the  oath 
in  his  most  roaring  voice  and  added  an  in- 
tolerant warning. 

"Mind  what  ye  say  now,  Janet,"  said  he. 
"I  have  an  e'e  upon  ye;  I'm  ill  to  jest  with." 

Presently,  after  she  was  tremblingly  em- 
barked on  her  story,  "And  what  made  ye  do 
this,  ye  auld  runt  ?  "  the  Court  interposed. 
"Do  ye  mean  to  tell  me  ye  was  the  pannel's 
mistress  ?  " 

"If  you  please,  ma  loard,"  whined  the 
female. 

"Godsake  !  ye  made  a  bonny  couple,"  ob- 
served his  lordship;  and  there  was  something 
so  formidable  and  ferocious  in  his  scorn  that 
not  even  the  galleries  thought  to  laugh. 

The  summing  up  contained  some  jewels. 


48  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

"  These  two  peetiable  creatures  seem  to 
have  made  up  thegither,  it's  not  for  us  to 
explain  why." — "  The  pannel,  who  (what- 
ever else  he  may  be)  appears  to  be  equally  ill 
set  out  in  mind  and  boady." — "  Neither  the 
pannel  nor  yet  the  old  wife  appears  to  have 
had  so  much  common  sense  as  even  to  tell  a 
lie  when  it  was  necessary."  And  in  the 
course  of  sentencing,  my  lord  had  this  obiter 
dictum  :  "  I  have  been  the  means,  under  God, 
of  haanging  a  great  number,  but  never  just 
such  a  disjaskit  rascal  as  yourself."  The 
words  were  strong  in  themselves ;  the  light 
and  heat  and  detonation  of  their  delivery,  and 
the  savage  pleasure  of  the  speaker  in  his  task, 
made  them  tingle  in  the  ears. 

When  all  was  over,  Archie  came  forth 
again  into  a  changed  world.  Had  there  been 
the  least  redeeming  greatness  in  the  crime, 
any  obscurity,  any  dubiety,  perhaps  he  might 
have  understood.  But  the  culprit  stood,  with 
his  sore  throat,  in  the  sweat  of  his  mortal 
agony,  without  defence  or  excuse ;  a  thing  to 
cover  up  with  blushes ;  a  being  so  much 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     49 

sunk  beneath  the  zones  of  sympathy  that 
pity  might  seem  harmless.  And  the  judge 
had  pursued  him  with  a  monstrous,  relishing 
gaiety,  horrible  to  be  conceived,  a  trait  for 
nightmares.  It  is  one  thing  to  spear  a  tiger, 
another  to  crush  a  toad ;  there  are  aesthetics 
even  of  the  slaughter-house ;  and  the  loath- 
someness of  Duncan  Jopp  enveloped  .and 
infected  the  image  of  his  judge. 

Archie  passed  by  his  friends  in  the  High 
Street  with  incoherent  words  and  gestures. 
He  saw  Holyrood  in  a  dream,  remembrance 
of  its  romance  awoke  in  him  and  faded ;  he 
had  a  vision  of  the  old  radiant  stories,  of 
Queen  Mary  and  Prince  Charlie,  of  the 
hooded  stag,  of  the  splendor  and  crime,  the 
velvet  and  bright  iron  of  the  past ;  and  dis- 
missed them  with  a  cry  of  pain.  He  lay  and 
moaned  in  the  Hunter's  Bog,  and  the 
heavens  were  dark  above  him  and  the  grass 
of  the  field  an  offence.  "  This  is  my  father," 
he  said.  "  I  draw  my  life  from  him ;  the 
flesh  upon  my  bones  is  his,  the  bread  I  am 
fed  with  is  the  wages  of  these  horrors."  He 
recalled  his  mother,  and  ground  his  forehead 


50  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

in  the  earth.  He  thought  of  flight,  and 
where  was  he  to  flee  to  ?  of  other  lives,  but 
was  there  any  life  worth  living  in  this  den  of 
savage  and  jeering  animals  ? 

The  interval  before  the  execution  was  like 
a  violent  dream.  He  met  his  father;  he 
would  not  look  at  him,  he  could  not  speak  to 
him.  It  seemed  there  was  no  living  creature 
but  must  have  been  swift  to  recognise  that 
imminent  animosity,  but  the  hide  of  the 
Lord  Justice-Clerk  remained  impenetrable. 
Had  my  lord  been  talkative,  the  truce  could 
never  have  subsisted ;  but  he  was  by  fortune 
in  one  of  his  humours  of  sour  silence ;  and 
under  the  very  guns  of  his  broadside  Archie 
nursed  the  enthusiasm  of  rebellion.  It  seemed 
to  him,  from  the  top  of  his  nineteen  years' 
experience,  as  if  he  were  marked  at  birth  to 
be  the  perpetrator  of  some  signal  action,  to 
set  back  fallen  Mercy,  to  overthrow  the 
usurping  devil  that  sat,  horned  and  hoofed, 
on  her  throne.  Seductive  Jacobin  figments, 
which  he  had  often  refuted  at  the  Speculative,1 

1  A  famous  debating  society  of  the  students  of  Edinburgh 
University. 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     51 

swam  up  in  his  mind  and  startled  him 
as  with  voices  ;  and  he  seemed  to  himself  to 
walk  accompanied  by  an  almost  tangible 
presence  of  new  beliefs  and  duties. 

On  the  named  morning  he  was  at  the  place 
of  execution.  He  saw  the  fleering  rabble, 
the  flinching  wretch  produced.  He  looked 
on  for  awhile  at  a  certain  parody  of  devotion, 
which  seemed  to  strip  the  wretch  of  his  last 
claim  to  manhood.  Then  followed  the  brutal 
instant  of  extinction,  and  the  paltry  dangling 
of  the  remains  like  a  broken  jumping-jack. 
He  had  been  prepared  for  something  terrible, 
not  for  this  tragic  meanness.  He  stood  a 
moment  silent,  and  then — "  I  denounce  this 
God-defying  murder  "  he  shouted ;  and  his 
father,  if  he  must  have  disclaimed  the  senti- 
ment, might  have  owned  the  stentorian  voice 
with  which  it  was  uttered. 

Frank  Innes  dragged  him  from  the  spot. 
The  two  handsome  lads  followed  the  same 
course  of  study  and  recreation,  and  felt  a 
certain  mutual  attraction,  founded  mainly  on 
good  looks.  It  had  never  gone  deep;  Frank 
was  by  nature  a  thin,  jeering  creature,  not 


53  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

truly  susceptible  whether  of  feeling  or  inspir- 
ing friendship  ;  and  the  relation  between  the 
pair  was  altogether  on  the  outside,  a  thing  of 
common  knowledge  and  the  pleasantries  that 
spring  from  a  common  acquaintance.  The 
more  credit  to  Frank  that  he  was  appalled  by 
Archie's  outburst,  and  at  least  conceived  the 
design  of  keeping  him  in  sight,  and,  if  possi- 
ble, in  hand,  for  the  day.  But  Archie,  who 
had  just  defied  —  was  it  God  or  Satan?  — 
would  not  listen  to  the  word  of  a  college 
companion. 

"I  will  not  go  with  you,"  he  said.  "I  do 
not  desire  your  company,  sir ;  I  would  be 
alone." 

"  Here,  Weir,  man,  don't  be  absurd,"  said 
Innes,  keeping  a  tight  hold  upon  his  sleeve. 
"I  will  not  let  you  go  until  I  know  what  you 
mean  to  do  with  yourself;  it's  no  use  brand- 
ishing that  staff."  For  indeed  at  that  moment 
Archie  had  made  a  sudden  —  perhaps  a  war- 
like—  movement.  "This  has  been  the  most 
insane  affair;  you  know  it  has.  You  know 
verv  well  that  I'm  playing  the  good  Samari- 
tan. All  I  wish  is  to  keep  you  quiet." 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     53 

"If  quietness  is  what  you  wish,  Mr.  Innes,'"1 
said  Archie,  "  and  you  will  promise  to  leave 
me  entirely  to  myself,  I  will  tell  you  so  much, 
that  I  am  going  to  walk  in  the  country  and 
admire  the  beauties  of  nature." 

"  Honor  bright  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  lying,  Mr. 
Innes,"  retorted  Archie.  "  I  have  the  honour 
of  wishing  you  good-day." 

"  You  won't  forget  the  Spec.  ? "  asked 
Innes. 

"  The  Spec.  ?  "  said  Archie.  "  Oh  no,  I 
won't  forget  the  Spec." 

And  the  one  young  man  carried  his  tor- 
tured spirit  forth  of  the  city  and  all  the  day 
long,  by  one  road  and  another,  in  an  endless 
pilgrimage  of  misery ;  while  the  other 
hastened  smilingly  to  spread  the  news  of 
Weir's  access  of  insanity,  and  to  drum  up  for 
that  night  a  full  attendance  at  the  Specula- 
tive, where  farther  eccentric  developments 
might  certainly  be  looked  for.  I  doubt  if 
Innes  had  the  least  belief  in  his  prediction ; 
I  think  it  flowed  rather  from  a  wish  to  make 
the  story  as  good  and  the  scandal  as  great  as 


54  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

possible ;  not  from  any  ill-will  to  Archie — 
from  the  mere  pleasure  of  beholding  interested 
faces.  But  for  all  that  his  words  were  pro- 
phetic. Archie  did  not  forget  the  Spec. ;  he 
put  in  an  appearance  there  at  the  due  time, 
and,  before  the  evening  was  over,  had  dealt  a 
memorable  shock  to  his  companions.  It 
chanced  he  was  the  president  of  the  night.  He 
sat  in  the  same  room  where  the  society  still 
meets  —  only  the  portraits  were  not  there;  the 
men  who  afterwards  sat  for  them  were  then 
but  beginning  their  career.  The  same  lustre 
of  many  tapers  shed  its  light  over  the  meet- 
ing ;  the  same  chair,  perhaps,  supported  him 
that  so  many  of  us  have  sat  in  since.  At 
times  he  seemed  to  forget  the  business  of  the 
evening,  but  even  in  these  periods  he  sat  with 
a  great  air  of  energy  and  determination.  At 
times  he  meddled  bitterly  and  launched  with 
defiance  those  fines  which  are  the  precious 
and  rarely  used  artillery  of  the  president.  He 
little  thought,  as  he  did  so,  how  he  resembled 
his  father,  but  his  friends  remarked  upon  it, 
.chuckling.  So  far,  in  his  high  place  above 
his  fellow-students,  he  seemed  set  beyond 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     55 

the  possibility  of  any  scandal ;  but  his  mind 
was  made  up  —  he  was  determined  to  fulfil 
the  sphere  of  his  offence.  He  signed  to 
Innes  (whom  he  had  just  fined,  and  who  just 
impeached  his  ruling)  to  succeed  him  in  the 
chair,  stepped  down  from  the  platform,  and 
took  his  place  by  the  chimney-piece,  the 
shine  of  many  wax  tapers  from  above  illum- 
inating his  pale  face,  the  glow  of  the  great 
red  fire  relieving  from  behind  his  slim  figure. 
He  had  to  propose,  as  an  amendment  to  the 
next  subject  in  the  case  book,  "  Whether 
capital  punishment  be  consistent  with  God's 
will  or  man's  policy  ?  " 

A  breath  of  embarrassment,  of  something 
like  alarm,  passed  round  the  room,  so  daring 
did  these  words  appear  upon  the  lips  of  Her- 
miston's  only  son.  But  the  amendment  was 
not  seconded;  the  previous  question  was 
promptly  moved  and  unanimously  voted,  and 
the  momentary  scandal  smuggled  by.  Innes 
triumphed  in  the  fulfilment  of  his  prophecy. 
He  and  Archie  were  now  become  the  heroes 
of  the  night ;  but  whereas  everyone  crowded 
about  Innes,  wheh  the  meeting  broke  up,  but 


56  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

one  of  all   his  companions  came  to  speak  to 
Archie. 

"Weir,  man  !  That  was  an  extraordinary 
raid  of  yours ! "  observed  this  courageous 
member,  taking  him  confidentially  by  the  arm 
as  they  went  out. 

"I  don't  think  it  a  raid,"  said  Archie 
grimly.  "  More  like  a  war.  I  saw  that  poor 
brute  hanged  this  morning,  and  my  gorge 
rises  at  it  yet." 

"  Hut-tut ! "  returned  his  companion,  and, 
dropping  his  arm  like  something  hot,  he 
sought  the  less  tense  society  of  others. 

Archie  found  himself  alone.  The  last  of 
the  faithful  —  or  was  it  only  the  boldest  of 
the  curious  ?  —  had  fled.  He  watched  the 
black  huddle  of  his  fellow-students  draw  off 
down  and  up  the  street,  in  whispering  or 
boisterous  gangs.  And  the  isolation  of  the 
moment  weighed  upon  him  like  an  omen  and 
an  emblem  of  his  destiny  in  life.  Bred  up 
in  unbroken  fear  himself,  among  trembling 
servants,  and  in  a  house  which  (at  the  least 
ruffle  in  the  master's  voice)  shuddered  into 
silence,  he  saw  himself  on  the  brink  of  the 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     57 

red  valley  of  war,  and  measured  the  danger 
and  length  of  it  with  awe.  He  made  a  de- 
tour in  the  glimmer  and  shadow  of  the  streets, 
came  into  the  back  stable  lane,  and  watched 
for  a  long  while  the  light  burn  steady  in  the 
Judge's  room.  The  longer  he  gazed  upon 
that  illuminated  window-blind,  the  more  blank 
became  the  picture  of  the  man  who  sat  be- 
hind it,  endlessly  turning  over  sheets  of  pro- 
cess, pausing  to  sip  a  glass  of  port,  or  rising 
and  passing  heavily  about  his  book-lined  walls 
to  verify  some  reference.  He  could  not 
combine  the  brutal  judge  and  the  industrious, 
dispassionate  student ;  the  connecting  link 
escaped  him  ;  from  such  a  dual  nature,  it  was 
impossible  he  should  predict  behaviour ;  and 
he  asked  himself  if  he  had  done  well  to 
plunge  into  a  business  of  which  the  end  could 
not  be  foreseen  ?  and  presently  after,  with  a 
sickening  decline  of  confidence,  if  he  had  done 
loyally  to  strike  his  father  ?  For  he  had 
struck  him — defied  him  twice  over  and  be- 
fore a  cloud  of  witnesses — struck  him  a  public 
buffet  before  crowds.  Who  had  called  him 
to  judge  his  father  in  these  precarious  and 


58  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

high  questions  ?  The  office  was  usurped.  It 
might  have  become  a  stranger;  in  a  son — there 
was  no  blinking  it — in  a  son,  it  was  disloyal. 
And  now,  between  these  two  natures  so  anti- 
pathetic, so  hateful  to  each  other,  there  was 
depending  an  unpardonable  affront :  and  the 
providence  of  God  alone  might  foresee  the 
manner  in  which  it  would  be  resented  by 
Lord  Hermiston. 

These  misgivings  tortured  him  all  night  and 
arose  with  him  in  the  winter's  morning ; 
they  followed  him  from  class  to  class,  they 
made  him  shrinkingly  sensitive  to  every  shade 
of  manner  in  his  companions,  they  sounded 
in  his  ears  through  the  current  voice  of  the 
professor;  and  he  brought  them  home  with 
him  at  night  unabated  and  indeed  increased. 
The  cause  of  this  increase  lay  in  a  chance 
encounter  with  the  celebrated  Dr.  Gregory. 
Archie  stood  looking  vaguely  in  the  lighted 
window  of  a  book  shop,  trying  to  nerve  him- 
self for  the  approaching  ordeal.  My  lord  and 
he  had  met  and  parted  in  the  morning  as  they 
had  now  done  for  long,  with  scarcely  the  or- 
dinary civilities  of  life ;  and  it  was  plain  to 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     59 

the  son  that  nothing  had  yet  reached  the 
father's  ears.  Indeed,  when  he  recalled  the 
awful  countenance  of  my  lord,  a  timid  hope 
sprang  up  in  him  that  perhaps  there  would  be 
found  no  one  bold  enough  to  carry  tales.  If 
this  were  so,  he  asked  himself,  would  he  be- 
gin again  ?  and  he  found  no  answer.  It  was 
at  this  moment  that  a  hand  was  laid  upon  his 
arm,  and  a  voice  said  in  his  ear,  "  My  dear 
Mr.  Archie,  you  had  better  come  and  see 
me." 

He  started,  turned  around,  and  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  Dr.  Gregory.  "  And 
why  should  I  come  to  see  you  ? "  he  asked, 
with  the  defiance  of  the  miserable. 

"  Because  you  are  looking  exceeding  ill," 
said  the  doctor,  "  and  you  very  evidently  want 
looking  after,  my  young  friend.  Good  folk 
are  scarce,  you  know ;  and  it  is  not  everyone 
that  would  be  quite  so  much  missed  as  your- 
self. It  is  not  everyone  that  Hermiston 
would  miss." 

And  with  a  nod  and  a  smile,  the  doctor 
passed  on. 

A  moment  after,  Archie  was   in   pursuit, 


60  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

and  had  in  turn,  but  more  roughly,  seized 
him  by  the  arm. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  what  did  you  mean 
by  saying  that  ?  What  makes  you  think 
that  Hermis  —  my  father  would  have  missed 
me  ?  " 

The  doctor  turned  about  and  looked  him 
all  over  with  a  clinical  eye.  A  far  more 
stupid  man  than  Dr.  Gregory  might  have 
guessed  the  truth ;  but  ninety-nine  out  of  a 
hundred,  even  if  they  had  been  equally  in- 
clined to  kindness,  would  have  blundered  by 
some  touch  of  charitable  exaggeration.  The 
doctor  was  better  inspired.  He  knew  the 
father  well ;  in  that  white  face  of  intelli- 
gence and  suffering,  he  divined  something  of 
the  son ;  and  he  told,  without  apology  or 
adornment,  the  plain  truth. 

"  When  you  had  the  measles,  Mr.  Archi- 
bald, you  had  them  gey  and  ill ;  and  I 
thought  you  were  going  to  slip  between  my 
fingers,"  he  said.  "  Well,  your  father  was 
anxious.  How  did  I  know  it  ?  says  you. 
Simply  because  I  am  a  trained  observer. 
The  sign  that  I  saw  him  make,  ten  thousand 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     61 

would  have  missed;  and  perhaps — perhaps, 
I  say,  because  he's  a  hard  man  to  judge  of 
—  but  perhaps  he  never  made  another.  A 
strange  thing  to  consider  !  It  was  this.  One 
day  I  came  to  him :  l  Hermiston,'  said  I, 
4  there  's  a  change.'  He  never  said  a  word, 
just  glowered  at  me  (if  ye  '11  pardon  the 
phrase)  like  a  wild  beast.  c  A  change  for 
the  better,'  said  I.  And  I  distinctly  heard 
him  take  his  breath." 

The  doctor  left  no  opportunity  for  anti- 
climax ;  nodding  his  cocked  hat  (a  piece  of 
antiquity  to  which  he  clung)  and  repeating 
"  Distinctly  "  with  raised  eyebrows,  he  took 
his  departure,  and  left  Archie  speechless  in 
the  street. 

The  anecdote  might  be  called  infinitely 
little,  and  yet  its  meaning  for  Archie  was 
immense.  "  I  did  not  know  the  old  man 
had  so  much  blood  in  him."  He  had  never 
dreamed  this  sire  of  his,  this  aboriginal  an- 
tique, this  adamantine  Adam,  had  even  so 
much  of  a  heart  as  to  be  moved  in  the  least 
degree  for  another  —  and  that  other  himself, 
who  had  insulted  him  !  With  the  generosity 


62  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

of  youth,  Archie  was  instantly  under  arms 
upon  the  other  side  :  had  instantly  created  a 
new  image  of  Lord  Hermiston,  that  of  a 
man  who  was  all  iron  without  and  all  sensi- 
bility within.  The  mind  of  the  vile  jester, 
the  tongue  that  had  pursued  Duncan  Jopp 
with  unmanly  insults,  the  unbeloved  counte- 
nance that  he  had  known  and  feared  for  so 
long,  were  all  forgotten ;  and  he  hastened 
home,  impatient  to  confess  his  misdeeds,  im- 
patient to  throw  himself  on  the  mercy  of 
this  imaginary  character. 

He  was  not  to  be  long  without  a  rude 
awakening.  It  was  in  the  gloaming  when  he 
drew  near  the  doorstep  of  the  lighted  house, 
and  was  aware  of  the  figure  of  his  father  ap- 
proaching from  the  opposite  side.  Little 
daylight  lingered ;  but  on  the  door  being 
opened,  the  strong  yellow  shine  of  the  lamp 
gushed  out  upon  the  landing  and  shone  full 
on  Archie,  as  he  stood,  in  the  old-fashioned 
observance  of  respect,  to  yield  precedence. 
The  Judge  came  without  haste,  stepping 
stately  and  firm ;  his  chin  raised,  his  face  (as 
he  entered  the  lamplight)  strongly  illumined, 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     63 

his  mouth  set  hard.  There  was  never  a 
wink  of  change  in  his  expression ;  without 
looking  to  the  right  or  left,  he  mounted  the 
stair,  passed  close  to  Archie,  and  entered  the 
house.  Instinctively,  the  boy,  upon  his  first 
coming,  had  made  a  movement  to  meet  him ; 
instinctively,  he  recoiled  against  the  railing, 
as  the  old  man  swept  by  him  in  a  pomp  of 
indignation.  Words  were  needless  ;  he  knew 
all  —  perhaps  more  than  all  —  and  the  hour 
of  judgment  was  at  hand. 

It  is  possible  that,  in  this  sudden  revulsion 
of  hope  and  before  these  symptoms  of  im- 
pending danger,  Archie  might  have  fled. 
But  not  even  that  was  left  to  him.  My  lord, 
after  hanging  up  his  cloak  and  hat,  turned 
round  in  the  lighted  entry,  and  made  him  an 
imperative  and  silent  gesture  with  his  thumb, 
and  with  the  strange  instinct  of  obedience, 
Archie  followed  him  into  the  house. 

All  dinner  time  there  reigned  over  the 
Judge's  table  a  palpable  silence,  and  as  soon 
as  the  solids  were  despatched  he  rose  to  his 
feet. 

"  M'Killup,  tak'  the  wine  into  my  room," 


64  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

said  he  ;  and  then  to  his  son  :  "  Archie,  you 
and  me  has  to  have  a  talk." 

It  was  at  this  sickening  moment  that 
Archie's  courage,  for  the  first  and  last  time, 
entirely  deserted  him.  "  I  have  an  appoint- 
ment," said  he. 

"  It'll  have  to  be  broken,  then,"  said  Her- 
miston,  and  led  the  way  into  his  study. 

The  lamp  was  shaded,  the  fire  trimmed  to 
a  nicety,  the  table  covered  deep  with  orderly 
documents,  the  backs  of  law  books  made  a 
frame  upon  all  sides  that  was  only  broken  by 
the  window  and  the  doors. 

For  a  moment  Hermiston  warmed  his  hands 
at  the  fire,  presenting  his  back  to  Archie ; 
then  suddenly  disclosed  on  him  the  terrors  of 
the  Hanging  Face. 

"What's  this  I  hear  of  ye  !"  he  asked. 

There  was  no  answer  possible  to  Archie. 

"  I'll  have  to  tell  ye,  then,"  pursued  Her- 
miston. "It  seems  ye've  been  skirling  against 
the  father  that  begot  ye,  and  one  of  His  Mai- 
jesty's  Judges  in  this  land  ;  and  that  in  the 
public  street,  and  while  an  order  of  the  Court 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     65 

was  being  executit.  Forbye  which,  it  would 
appear  that  ye've  been  airing  your  opeenions 
in  a  Coallege  Debatin'  Society,"  he  paused  a 
moment :  and  then,  with  extraordinary  bitter- 
ness, added :  "  Ye  damned  eediot." 

"I  had  meant  to  tell  you,"  stammered 
Archie.  "I  see  you  are  well  informed." 

"Muckle  obleeged  to  ye,"  said  his  lordship, 
and  took  his  usual  seat.  "And  so  you  disap- 
prove of  caapital  punishment?"  he  added. 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,  I  do,"  said  Archie. 

"  I  am  sorry,  too,"  said  his  lordship.  "  And 
now,  if  you  please,  we  shall  approach  this 
business  with  a  little  more  parteecularity.  I 
hear  that  at  the  hanging  of  Duncan  Jopp — 
and,  man!  ye  had  a  fine  client  there — in  the 
middle  of  all  the  riffraff  of  the  ceety,  ye 
thought  fit  to  cry  out,  'This  is  a  damned 
murder,  and  my  gorge  rises  at  the  man  that 
haangit  him.'  " 

"  No,  sir,  these  were  not  my  words,"  cried 
Archie. 

"What  were  ye' r words,  then?"  asked  the 
Judge. 

"I  believe  I  said  CI  denounce  it  as  a  mur- 


66  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

der!'"  said  the  son,  "I  beg  your  pardon — a 
God-defying  murder.  I  have  no  wish  to 
conceal  the  truth,"  he  added,  and  looked  his 
father  for  a  moment  in  the  face. 

"  God,  it  would  only  need  that  of  it 
next ! "  cried  Hermiston.  "  There  was 
nothing  about  your  gorge  rising,  then  ?  " 

"  That  was  afterwards,  my  lord,  as  I  was 
leaving  the  Speculative.  I  said  I  had  been 
to  see  the  miserable  creature  hanged,  and  my 
gorge  rose  at  it." 

"  Did  ye,  though  ? "  said  Hermiston. 
"  And  I  suppose  ye  knew  who  haangit  him  ? " 

"  I  was  present  at  the  trial,  I  ought  to  tell 
you  that,  I  ought  to  explain.  I  ask  your 
pardon  beforehand  for  any  expression  that 
may  seem  undutiful.  The  position  in  which 
I  stand  is  wretched,"  said  the  unhappy  hero, 
now  fairly  face  to  face  with  the  business  he 
had  chosen.  "  I  have  been  reading  some  of 
your  cases.  I  was  present  while  Jopp  was 
tried.  It  was  a  hideous  business.  Father, 
it  was  a  hideous  thing  !  Grant  he  was  vile, 
why  should  you  hunt  him  with  a  vileness 
equal  to  his  own  ?  It  was  done  with  glee  — 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     67 

that  is  the  word  —  you  did  it  with  glee;  and 
I  looked  on,  God  help  me  !  with  horror." 

"  You're  a  young  gentleman  that  doesna 
approve  of  caapital  punishment,"  said  Her- 
miston.  "  Weel,  I'm  an  auld  man  that  does. 
I  was  glad  to  get  Jopp  haangit,  and  what  for 
would  I  pretend  I  wasna  ?  You're  all  for 
honesty,  it  seems;  you  couldn't  even  steik 
your  mouth  on  the  public  street.  What  for 
should  I  steik  mines  upon  the  bench,  the 
King's  officer,  bearing  the  sword,  a  dreid  to 
evil-doers,  as  I  was  from  the  beginning,  and 
as  I  will  be  to  the  end !  Mair  than  enough 
of  it !  Heedious  !  1  never  gave  twa  thoughts 
to  heediousness,  I  have  no  call  to  be  bonny. 
I'm  a  man  that  gets  through  with  my  day's 
business,  and  let  that  suffice." 

The  ring  of  sarcasm  had  died  out  of  his 
voice  as  he  went  on ;  the  plain  words  became 
invested  with  some  of  the  dignity  of  the 
justice-seat. 

"  It  would  be  telling  you  if  you  could  say 
as  much,"  the  speaker  resumed.  "  But  ye 
can  not.  Ye've  been  reading  some  of  my 


68  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

cases,  ye  say.  But  it  was  not  for  the  law  in 
them,  it  was  to  spy  out  your  faither's  naked- 
ness, a  fine  employment  in  a  son.  You're 
splairging  ;  you're  running  at  lairge  in  life 
like  a  wild  nowt.  It's  impossible  you  should 
think  any  longer  of  coming  to  the  Bar. 
You're  not  fit  for  it ;  no  splairger  is.  And 
another  thing :  son  of  mines  or  no  son  of 
mines,  you  have  flung  fylement  in  public  on 
one  of  the  Senators  of  the  Coallege  of  Jus- 
tice, and  I  would  make  it  my  business  to  see 
that  ye  were  never  admitted  there  yourself. 
There  is  a  kind  of  a  decency  to  be  observit. 
Then  comes  the  next  of  it  —  what  am  I  to 
do  with  ye  next  ?  Ye'll  have  to  find  some 
kind  of  a  trade,  for  I'll  never  support  ye  in 
idleset.  What  do  ye  fancy  ye'll  be  fit  for  ? 
The  pulpit  ?  Na,  they  could  never  get 
diveenity  into  that  bloackhead.  Him  that 
the  law  of  man  whammles  is  no  likely  to  do 
muckle  better  by  the  law  of  God.  What 
would  ye  make  of  hell  ?  Wouldna  your 
gorge  rise  at  that  ?  Na,  there's  no  room  for 
splairgers  under  the  fower  quarters  of  John 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     69 

Calvin.  What  else  is  there  ?  Speak  up. 
Have  ye  got  nothing  of  your  own  ?  " 

"  Father,  let  me  go  to  the  Peninsula,"  said 
Archie.  "  That's  all  I'm  fit  for  —  to  fight." 

"  All  ?  quo'  he  !  "  returned  the  Judge. 
"  And  it  would  be  enough  too,  if  I  thought 
it.  But  I'll  never  trust  ye  so  near  the 
French,  you  that's  so  Frenchifeed." 

"  You  do  me  injustice  there,  sir,"  said 
Archie.  "  I  am  loyal ;  I  will  not  boast ; 
but  any  interest  I  may  have  ever  felt  in  the 
French  —  " 

"  Have  ye  been  so  loyal  to  me  ? "  inter- 
rupted his  father. 

There  came  no  reply. 

"  I  think  not,"  continued  Hermiston. 
"  And  I  would  send  no  man  to  be  a  servant 
to  the  King,  God  bless  him  !  that  has  proved 
such  a  shauchling  son  to  his  own  faither. 
You  can  splairge  here  on  Edinburgh  street, 
and  where's  the  hairm  ?  It  doesna  play 
buff  on  me !  And  if  there  were  twenty 
thousand  eediots  like  yourself,  sorrow  a 
Duncan  Jopp  would  hang  the  fewer.  But 


70  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

there's  no  splairging  possible  in  a  camp ;  and 
if  you  were  to  go  to  it,  you  would  find  out 
for  yourself  whether  Lord  Well'n'ton  ap- 
proves of  caapital  punishment  or  not.  You 
a  sodger !  "  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
scorn.  "  Ye  auld  wife,  the  sodgers  would 
bray  at  ye  like  cuddies  !  " 

As  at  the  drawing  of  a  curtain,  Archie 
was  aware  of  some  illogicality  in  his  position, 
and  stood  abashed.  He  had  a  strong  impres- 
sion, besides,  of  the  essential  valour  of  the 
old  gentleman  before  him,  how  conveyed  it 
would  be  hard  to  say. 

"Well,  have  ye  no  other  proposeetion ? " 
said  my  lord  again. 

"You  have  taken  this  so  calmly,  sir,  that  I 
cannot  but  stand  ashamed,"  began  Archie. 

"I'm  nearer  voamiting,  though,  than  you 
would  fancy,"  said  my  lord. 

The  blood  rose  to  Archie's  brow. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  should  have  said  that 
you  had  accepted  my  affront.  .  .  I  admit 
it  was  an  affront;  I  did  not  think  to  apologise, 
but  I  do,  I  ask  your  pardon;  it  will  not  be  so 
again,  I  pass  you  my  word  of  honour. 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP      71 

I  should  have  said  that  I  admired  your  mag- 
nanimity with — this — offender,"  Archie  con- 
cluded with  a  gulp. 

"  I  have  no  other  son,  ye  see,"  said  Hermis- 
ton.  "  A  bonny  one  I  have  gotten !  But  I 
must  just  do  the  best  I  can  wi'  him,  and  what 
am  I  to  do?  If  ye  had  been  younger,  I 
would  have  wheepit  ye  for  this  rideeculous 
exhibeetion.  The  way  it  is,  I  have  just  to 
grin  and  bear.  But  one  thing  is  to  be  clearly 
understood.  As  a  faither,  I  must  grin  and 
bear  it;  but  if  1  had  been  the  Lord  Advocate 
instead  of  the  Lord  Justice-Clerk,  son  or  no 
son,  Mr.  Erchibald  Weir  would  have  been  in 
a  jyle  the  night." 

Archie  was  now  dominated.  Lord  Her- 
miston  was  coarse  and  cruel ;  and  yet  the  son 
was  aware  of  a  bloomless  nobility,  an  un- 
gracious abnegation  of  the  man's  self  in  the 
man's  office.  At  every  word,  this  sense  of 
the  greatness  of  Lord  Hermiston's  spirit  struck 
more  home  ;  and  along  with  it  that  of  his  own 
impotence,  who  had  struck  —  and  perhaps 
basely  struck  —  at  his  own  father,  and  not 
reached  so  far  as  to  have  even  nettled  him. 


72  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

"  I  place  myself  in  your  hands  without  re- 
serve," he  said. 

"  That's  the  first  sensible  word  I've  had  of 
ye  the  night,"  said  Hermiston.  "  I  can  tell 
ye,  that  would  have  been  the  end  of  it,  the 
one  way  or  the  other ;  but  it's  better  ye 
should  come  there  yourself,  than  what  I  would 
have  had  to  hirstle  ye.  Weel,  by  my  way 
of  it — and  my  way  is  the  best — there's  just 
the  one  thing  it's  possible  that  ye  might  be 
with  decency,  and  that's  a  laird.  Ye'll  be 
out  of  hairm's  way  at  the  least  of  it.  If  ye 
have  to  rowt,  ye  can  rowt  amang  the  kye ; 
and  the  maist  feck  of  the  caapital  punish- 
ment ye're  like  to  come  across  '11  be  guddling 
trouts.  Now,  I'm  for  no  idle  lairdies ;  every 
man  has  to  work,  if  it's  only  at  peddling  bal- 
lants ;  to  work,  or  to  be  wheeped,  or  to  be 
haangit.  If  I  set  ye  down  at  Hermiston,  I'll 
have  to  see  you  work  that  place  the  way  it 
has  never  been  workit  yet;  ye  must  ken 
about  the  sheep  like  a  herd  ;  ye  must  be  my 
grieve  there,  and  I'll  see  that  I  gain  by  ye. 
Is  that  understood  ?  " 


THE  HANGING  OF  DUNCAN  JOPP     73 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  said  Archie. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  send  Kirstie  word  the 
morn,  and  ye  can  go  yourself  the  day  after," 
said  Hermiston.  "  And  just  try  to  be  less  of 
an  eediot ! "  he  concluded,  with  a  freezing 
smile,  and  turned  immediately  to  the  papers 
on  his  desk. 


Chapter  IV 

OPINION  OF   THE   BENCH 

Late  the  same  night,  after  a  disordered 
walk,  Archie  was  admitted  into  Lord  Glen- 
almond's  dining-room  where  he  sat,  with  a 
book  upon  his  knee,  beside  three  frugal  coals 
of  fire.  In  his  robes  upon  the  bench,  Glen- 
almond  had  a  certain  air  of  burliness  :  plucked 
of  these,  it  was  a  may-pole  of  a  man  tha': 
rose  unsteadily  from  his  chair  to  give  his  vis- 
itor welcome.  Archie  had  suffered  much  in 
the  last  days,  he  had  suffered  again  that 
evening ;  his  face  was  white  and  drawn,  his 
eyes  wild  and  dark.  But  Lord  Glenalmond 
greeted  him  without  the  least  mark  of  sur- 
prise or  curiosity. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"  said  he.  "  Come 
in  and  take  a  seat.  Carstairs  "  (to  his  ser- 
vant) "  make  up  the  fire,  and  then  you  can 
bring  a  bit  of  supper,"  and  again  to  Archie, 
74 


OPINION  OF   THE   BENCH  75 

with  a  very  trivial  accent :  "  I  was  half  ex- 
pecting you,"  he  added. 

"  No  supper,"  said  Archie.  "  It  is  impos- 
sible that  I  should  eat." 

"  Not  impossible,"  said  the  tall  old  man, 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  "  and,  if 
you  will  believe  me,  necessary." 

"  You  know  what  brings  me  ? "  said 
Archie,  as  soon  as  the  servant  had  left  the 
room. 

"  I  have  a  guess,  I  have  a  guess,"  replied 
Glenalmond.  "  We  will  talk  of  it  presently 
—  when  Carstairs  has  come  and  gone,  and 
you  have  had  a  piece  of  my  good  Cheddar 
cheese  and  a  pull  at  the  porter  tankard  :  not 
before." 

"  It  is  impossible  I  should  eat,"  repeated 
Archie. 

"  Tut,  tut  !  "  said  Lord  Glenalmond. 
"You  have  eaten  nothing  to-day,  and,  I  ven- 
ture to  add,  nothing  yesterday.  There  is  no 
case  that  may  not  be  made  worse;  this  may  be 
a  very  disagreeable  business,  but  if  you  were 
to  fall  sick  and  die,  it  would  be  still  more  so, 
and  for  all  concerned  —  for  all  concerned." 


76  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

"  I  see  you  must  know  all,"  said  Archie. 
;  Where  did  you  hear  it  ?  " 

ct  In  the  mart  of  scandal,  in  the  Parlia- 
ment House,"  said  Glenalmond.  "  It  runs 
riot  below  among  the  bar  and  the  public,  but 
it  sifts  up  to  us  upon  the  bench,  and  rumour 
has  some  of  her  voices  even  in  the  divisions." 

Carstairs  returned  at  this  moment,  and  rap- 
idly laid  out  a  little  supper ;  during  which 
Lord  Glenalmond  spoke  at  large  and  a  little 
vaguely  on  indifferent  subjects,  so  that  it  might 
be  rather  said  of  him  that  he  made  a  cheer- 
ful noise,  than  that  he  contributed  to  human 
conversation ;  and  Archie  sat  upon  the  other 
side,  not  heeding  him,  brooding  over  his 
wrongs  and  errors. 

But  so  soon  as  the  servant  was  gone,  he 
broke  forth  again  at  once.  "  Who  told  my 
father  ?  Who  dared  to  tell  him  ?  Could  it 
have  been  you  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  not  me,"  said  the  Judge ; 
"  although  —  to  be  quite  frank  with  you,  and 
after  I  had  seen  and  warned  you  —  it  might 
have  been  me.  I  believe  it  was  Glenkindie." 

"  That  shrimp  !  "  cried  Archie. 


OPINION  OF  THE   BENCH  77 

"  As  you  say,  that  shrimp,"  returned  my 
lord ;  "  although  really  it  is  scarce  a  fitting 
mode  of  expression  for  one  of  the  Senators 
of  the  College  of  Justice.  \Ve  were  hearing 
the  parties  in  a  long,  crucial  case,  before  the 
fifteen;  Creech  was  moving  at  some  length 
for  an  infeftment;  when  I  saw  Glenkindie 
lean  forward  to  Hermiston  with  his  hand 
over  his  mouth  and  make  him  a  secret  com- 
munication. No  one  could  have  guessed  its 
nature  from  your  father;  from  Glenkindie, 
yes,  his  malice  sparked  out  of  him  a  little 
grossly.  But  your  father,  no.  A  man  of 
granite.  The  next  moment  he  pounced 
upon  Creech.  'Mr.  Creech,'  says  he,  'I'll 
take  a  look  of  that  sasine,'  and  for  thirty 
minutes  after,"  said  Glenalmond,  with  a 
smile,  "Messrs.  Creech  and  Co.  were  fight- 
ing a  pretty  uphill  battle,  which  resulted,  I 
need  hardly  add,  in  their  total  rout.  The 
case  was  dismissed.  No,  I  doubt  if  ever  I 
heard  Hermiston  better  inspired.  He  was 
literally  rejoicing  in  apidbus  juris." 

Archie  was  able  to  endure  no  longer.  He 
thrust  his  plate  away  and  interrupted  the 


7§  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

deliberate  and  insignificant  stream  of  talk. 
"  Here,"  he  said,  "  I  have  made  a  fool  of 
myself,  if  I  have  not  made  something  worse. 
Do  you  judge  between  us — judge  between  a 
father  and  a  son.  I  can  speak  to  you;  it  is 
not  like  ....  I  will  tell  you  what  I  feel 
and  what  I  mean  to  do;  and  you  shall  be  the 
judge,"  he  repeated. 

"I  decline  jurisdiction,"  said  Glenalmond 
with  extreme  seriousness.  "But,  my  dear 
boy,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good  to  talk,  and  if 
it  will  interest  you  at  all  to  hear  what  I  may 
choose  to  say  when  I  have  heard  you,  I  am 
quite  at  your  command.  Let  an  old  man 
say  it,  for  once,  and  not  need  to  blush:  I 
love  you  like  a  son." 

There  came  a  sudden  sharp  sound  in 
Archie's  throat.  "  Ay,"  he  cried,  "  and 
there  it  is  !  Love  !  Like  a  son  !  And  how 
do  you  think  I  love  my  father  ?  " 

"  Quietly,  quietly,"  says  my  lord. 

"  I  will  be  very  quiet,"  replied  Archie. 
"  And  I  will  be  baldly  frank.  I  do  not  love 
my  father ;  I  wonder  sometimes  if  I  do  not 
hate  him.  There's  my  shame ;  perhaps  my 


OPINION  OF  THE  BENCH  79 

sin  ;  at  least,  and  in  the  sight  of  God,  not  my 
fault.  How  was  I  to  love  him  ?  He  has 
never  spoken  to  me,  never  smiled  upon  me  ; 
I  do  not  think  he  ever  touched  me.  You 
know  the  way  he  talks  ?  You  do  not  talk  so, 
yet  you  can  sit  and  hear  him  without  shud- 
dering, and  I  cannot.  My  soul  is  sick  when 
he  begins  with  it ;  I  could  smite  him  in  the 
mouth.  And  all  that's  nothing.  I  was  at 
the  trial  of  this  Jopp.  You  were  not  there, 
but  you  must  have  heard  him  often;  the 
man's  notorious  for  it,  for  being — look  at  my 
position  !  he's  my  father  and  this  is  how  I 
have  to  speak  of  him — notorious  for  being  a 
brute  and  cruel  and  a  coward.  Lord  Glenal- 
mond,  I  give  you  my  word,  when  I  came  out 
of  that  Court,  I  longed  to  die — the  shame  of 
it  was  beyond  my  strength  :  but  I — I — "  he 
rose  from  his  seat  and  began  to  pace  the 
room  in  a  disorder.  "  Well,  who  am  I  ?  A 
boy,  who  have  never  been  tried,  have  never 
done  anything  except  this  twopenny  impotent 
folly  with  my  father.  But  I  tell  you,  my 
lord,  and  I  know  myself,  I  am  at  least  that 
kind  of  a  man — or  that  kind  of  a  boy,  if  you 


8o  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

prefer  it  —  that  I  could  die  interments  rather 
than  that  anyone  should  suffer  as  that  scoun- 
drel suffered.  Well,  and  what  have  I  done  ? 
I  see  it  now.  I  have  made  a  fool  of  myself, 
as  I  said  in  the  beginning ;  and  I  have  gone 
back,  and  asked  my  father's  pardon,  and 
placed  myself  wholly  in  his  hands  —  and  he 
has  sent  me  to  Hermiston,"  with  a  wretched 
smile,  "for  life,  I  suppose  —  and  what  can  I 
say  ?  he  strikes  me  as  having  done  quite- 
right,  and  let  me  off  better  than  I  had  de- 
served." 

"  My  poor,  dear  boy  !  "  observed  Glenal- 
mond.  "  My  poor  dear  and,  if  you  will  allow 
me  to  say  so,  very  foolish  boy  !  You  are 
only  discovering  where  you  are  ;  to  one  of 
your  temperament,  or  of  mine,  a  painful  dis- 
covery. The  world  was  not  made  for  us ; 
it  was  made  for  ten  hundred  millions  of  men, 
all  different  from  each  other  and  from  us  ; 
there's  no  royal  road  there,  we  just  have  to 
sclamber  and  tumble.  Don't  think  that  I 
am  at  all  disposed  to  be  surprised ;  don't 
suppose  that  I  ever  think  of  blaming  you  ; 
indeed  I  rather  admire  !  But  there  fall  to  be 


OPINION   OF   THE   BENCH  81 

offered  one  or  two  observations  on  the  case 
which  occur  to  me  and  which  (if  you  will 
listen  to  them  dispassionately)  may  be  the 
means  of  inducing  you  to  view  the  matter 
more  calmly.  First  of  all,  I  cannot  acquit 
you  of  a  good  deal  of  what  is  called  intoler- 
ance. You  seem  to  have  been  very  much 
offended  because  your  father  talks  a  little 
sculduddery  after  dinner,  which  it  is  per- 
fectly licit  for  him  to  do,  and  which  (although 
I  am  not  very  fond  of  it  myself)  appears  to 
be  entirely  an  affair  of  taste.  Your  father,  I 
scarcely  like  to  remind  you,  since  it  is  so 
trite  a  commonplace,  is  older  than  yourself. 
At  least,  he  is  major  and  sui  juris,  and  may 
please  himself  in  the  matter  of  his  conversa- 
tion. And,  do  you  know,  I  wonder  if  he 
might  not  have  as  good  an  answer  against 
you  and  me  ?  We  say  we  sometimes  find 
him  coarse,  but  I  suspect  he  might  retort 
that  he  finds  us  always  dull.  Perhaps  a  rele- 
vant exception." 

He  beamed  on  Archie,  but  no  smile  could 
be  elicited. 


82  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

"  And  now,"  proceeded  the  Judge,  "  for 
'Archibald  on  Capital  Punishment.'  This  is 
a  very  plausible  academic  opinion ;  of  course 
I  do  not  and  I  cannot  hold  it ;  but  that's  not 
to  say  that  many  able  and  excellent  persons 
have  not  done  so  in  the  past.  Possibly,  in 
the  past  also,  I  may  have  a  little  dipped  my- 
self in  the  same  heresy.  My  third  client,  or 
possibly  my  fourth,  was  the  means  of  a  return 
in  my  opinions.  I  never  saw  the  man  I 
more  believed  in  ;  I  would  have  put  my  hand 
in  the  fire,  I  would  have  gone  to  the  cross 
for  him ;  and  when  it  came  to  trial  he  was 
gradually  pictured  before  me,  by  undeniable 
probation,  in  the  light  of  so  gross,  so  cold- 
blooded, and  so  black-hearted  a  villain,  that  I 
had  a  mind  to  have  cast  my  brief  upon  the 
table.  I  was  then  boiling  against  the  man 
with  even  a  more  tropical  temperature  than  I 
had  been  boiling  for  him.  But  I  said  to 
myself:  '  No,  you  have  taken  up  his  case; 
and  because  you  have  changed  your  mind  it 
must  not  be  suffered  to  let  drop.  All  that 
rich  tide  of  eloquence  that  you  prepared  last 
night  with  so  much  enthusiasm  is  out  of 


OPINION  OF   THE   BENCH  83 

place,  and  yet  you  must  not  desert  him,  you 
must  say  something.'  So  I  said  something, 
and  I  got  him  off.  It  made  my  reputation. 
But  an  experience  of  that  kind  is  formative. 
A  man  must  not  bring  his  passions  to  the 
bar  —  or  to  the  bench." 

The  story  had  slightly  rekindled  Archie's 
interest.  "  I  could  never  deny,"  he  began — 
"  I  mean  I  can  conceive  that  some  men 
would  be  better  dead.  But  who  are  we  to 
know  all  the  springs  of  God's  unfortunate 
creatures  ?  Who  are  we  to  trust  ourselves 
where  it  seems  that  God  himself  must  think 
twice  before  He  treads,  and  to  do  it  with 
delight  ?  Yes,  with  delight.  Tigris  ut 
aspera" 

"  Perhaps  not  a  pleasant  spectacle,"  said 
Glenalmond.  "  And  yet,  do  you  know,  I 
think  somehow  a  great  one." 

"  I've  had  a  long  talk  with  him  to-night," 
said  Archie. 

"  I  was  supposing  so,"  said  Glenalmond. 

"  And  he  struck  me 1  cannot  deny 

that  he  struck  me  as  something  very  big," 
pursued  the  son.  "  Yes,  he  is  big.  He  never 


84  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

spoke  about  himself;  only  about  me.  I  sup- 
pose I  admired  him.  The  dreadful  part " 

"  Suppose  we  did  not  talk  about  that,"  in- 
terrupted Glenalmond.  "  You  know  it  very 
well,  it  cannot  in  any  way  help  that  you 
should  brood  upon  it,  and  I  sometimes  wonder 
whether  you  and  I  —  who  are  a  pair  of  senti- 
mentalists —  are  quite  good  judges  of  plain 
men." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Archie. 

"  Fair  judges,  I  mean,"  replied  Glenal- 
mond. "  Can  we  be  just  to  them  ?  Do  we 
not  ask  too  much  ?  There  was  a  word  of 
yours  just  now  that  impressed  me  a  little 
when  you  asked  me  who  we  were  to  know 
all  the  springs  of  God's  unfortunate  creatures. 
You  applied  that,  as  I  understood,  to  capital 
cases  only.  But  does  it — I  ask  myself — does 
it  not  apply  all  through  ?  Is  it  any  less  diffi- 
cult to  judge  of  a  good  man  or  of  a  half- 
good  man,  than  of  the  worst  criminal  at  the 
bar  ?  And  may  not  each  have  relevant  ex- 
cuses ? " 

"  Ah,  but  we  do  not  talk  of  punishing  the 
good,"  cried  Archie. 


OPINION   OF   THE   BENCH  85 

"  No,  we  do  not  talk  of  it,"  said  Glenal- 
mond.  "  But  I  think  we  do  it.  Your  father, 
for  instance." 

"  You  think  I  have  punished  him  ?  "  cried 
Archie. 

Lord  Glenalmond  bowed  his  head. 

"I  think  I  have,"  said  Archie.  "And 
the  worst  is,  I  think  he  feels  it !  How  much, 
who  can  tell,  with  such  a  being  ?  But  I 
think  he  does." 

"  And  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Glenalmond. 

"  Has  he  spoken  to  you,  then  ?  "  cried  Ar- 
chie. 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  the  Judge. 

"  I  tell  you  honestly,"  said  Archie,  "  I 
want  to  make  it  up  to  him.  I  will  go,  I 
have  already  pledged  myself  to  go,  to  Her- 
miston.  That  was  to  him.  And  now  I 
pledge  myself  to  you,  in  the  sight  of  God, 
that  I  will  close  my  mouth  on  capital  punish- 
ment and  all  other  subjects  where  our  views 
may  clash,  for — how  long  shall  I  say?  when 
shall  I  have  sense  enough  ?  —  ten  years.  Is 
that  well  ? " 

"  It  is  well,"  said  my  lord. 


86  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

"  As  far  as  it  goes,"  said  Archie.  "  It  is 
enough  as  regards  myself,  it  is  to  lay  down 
enough  of  my  conceit.  But  as  regards  him, 
whom  I  have  publicly  insulted  ?  What  am 
I  to  do  to  him  ?  How  do  you  pay  attentions 
to  a — an  Alp  like  that  ?  " 

"  Only  in  one  way,"  replied  Glenalmond. 
"  Only  by  obedience,  punctual,  prompt,  and 
scrupulous." 

"  And  I  promise  that  he  shall  have  it,"  an- 
swered Archie.  "  I  offer  you  my  hand  in 
pledge  of  it." 

"  And  I  take  your  hand  as  a  solemnity," 
replied  the  Judge.  "  God  bless  you,  my 
dear,  and  enable  you  to  keep  your  promise. 
God  guide  you  in  the  true  way,  and  spare 
your  days,  and  preserve  to  you  your  honest 
heart."  At  that,  he  kissed  the  young  man 
upon  the  forehead  in  a  gracious,  distant,  anti- 
quated way  ;  and  instantly  launched,  with  a 
marked  change  of  voice,  into  another  sub- 
ject. "  And  now,  let  us  replenish  the  tank- 
ard ;  and  I  believe,  if  you  will  try  my  Ched- 
dar again,  you  would  find  you  had  a  better 


OPINION  OF   THE   BENCH  87 

appetite.  The  Court  has  spoken,  and  the 
case  is  dismissed." 

"  No,  there  is  one  thing  I  must  say,"  cried 
Archie.  "  I  must  say  it  in  justice  to  himself. 
I  know — I  believe  faithfully,  slavishly,  after 
our  talk — he  will  never  ask  me  anything  un- 
just. I  am  proud  to  feel  it,  that  we  have 
that  much  in  common,  I  am  proud  to  say  it 
to  you." 

The  Judge,  with  shining  eyes,  raised  his 
tankard.  "  And  I  think  perhaps  that  we 
might  permit  ourselves  a  toast,"  said  he.  "  I 
should  like  to  propose  the  health  of  a  man 
very  different  from  me  and  very  much  my 
superior  —  a  man  from  whom  I  have  often 
differed,  who  has  often  (in  the  trivial  ex- 
pression) rubbed  me  the  wrong  way,  but 
whom  I  have  never  ceased  to  respect  and,  I 
may  add,  to  be  not  a  little  afraid  of.  Shall  I 
give  you  his  name  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  Justice-Clerk,  Lord  Her- 
miston,"  said  Archie,  almost  with  gaiety ; 
and  the  pair  drank  the  toast  deeply. 

It  was  not  precisely  easy  to  re-establish, 


88  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

after  these  emotional  passages,  the  natural 
flow  of  conversation.  But  the  Judge  eked 
out  what  was  wanting  with  kind  looks,  pro- 
duced his  snufF-box  (which  was  very  rarely 
seen)  to  fill  in  a  pause,  and  at  last,  despairing 
of  any  further  social  success,  was  upon  the 
point  of  getting  down  a  book  to  read  a  fav- 
ourite passage,  when  there  came  a  rather 
startling  summons  at  the  front  door,  and 
Carstairs  ushered  in  my  Lord  Glenkindie,  hot 
from  a  midnight  supper.  I  am  not  aware 
that  Glenkindie  was  ever  a  beautiful  object, 
being  short,  and  gross-bodied,  and  with  an 
expression  of  sensuality  comparable  to  a 
bear's.  At  that  moment,  coming  in  hissing 
from  many  potations,  with  a  flushed  counte- 
nance and  blurred  eyes,  he  was  strikingly 
contrasted  with  the  tall,  pale,  kingly  figure  of 
Glenalmond.  A  rush  of  confused  thought 
came  over  Archie  —  of  shame  that  this  was 
one  of  his  father's  elect  friends ;  of  pride, 
that  at  the  least  of  it  Hermiston  could  carry 
his  liquor ;  and  last  of  all,  of  rage,  that  he 
should  have  here  under  his  eye  the  man  that 
had  betrayed  him.  And  then  that  too  passed 


OPINION   OF   THE   BENCH  89 

away ;    and   he   sat   quiet,  biding  his  oppor- 
tunity. 

The  tipsy  senator  plunged  at  once  into  an 
explanation  with  Glenalmond.  There  was 
a  point  reserved  yesterday,  he  had  been  able 
to  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  it,  and  see- 
ing lights  in  the  house,  he  had  just  dropped 
in  for  a  glass  of  porter — and  at  this  point  he 
became  aware  of  the  third  person.  Archie 
saw  the  cod's  mouth  and  the  blunt  lips  of 
Glenkindie  gape  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
the  recognition  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"  Who's  this  ?  "  said  he.  "  What  ?  is  this 
possibly  you,  Don  Quickshot  ?  And  how 
are  ye  ?  And  how's  your  father  ?  And 
what's  all  this  we  hear  of  you  ?  It  seems 
you're  a  most  extraordinary  leveller,  by  all 
tales.  No  king,  no  parliaments,  and  your 
gorge  rises  at  the  macers,  worthy  men  !  Hoot, 
toot !  Dear,  dear  me  !  Your  father's  son 
too  !  Most  rideekulous!" 

Archie  was  on  his  feet,  flushing  a  little  at 
the  reappearance  of  his  unhappy  figure  of 
speech,  but  perfectly  self-possessed.  "  My 
lord — and  you,  Lord  Glenalmond,  my  dear 


9°  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

friend,"  he  began,  "  this  is  a  happy  chance 
for  me,  that  I  can  make  my  confession 
and  offer  my  apologies  to  two  of  you  at 
once." 

"  Ah,  but  I  don't  know  about  that.  Con- 
fession ?  It'll  be  judeecial,  my  young  friend," 
cried  the  jocular  Glenkindie.  "  And  I'm 
afraid  to  listen  to  ye.  Think  if  ye  were  to 
make  me  a  coanvert !  " 

"  If  you  would  allow  me,  my  lord,"  re- 
turned Archie,  "  what  I  have  to  say  is  very 
serious  to  me ;  and  be  pleased  to  be  humor- 
ous after  I  am  gone  ! " 

"  Remember,  I'll  hear  nothing  against  the 
macers  !"  put  in  the  incorrigible  Glenkindie. 

But  Archie  continued  as  though  he  had 
not  spoken.  "  I  have  played,  both  yesterday 
and  to-day,  a  part  for  which  I  can  only  offer 
the  excuse  of  youth.  I  was  so  unwise  as  to 
go  to  an  execution  ;  it  seems,  I  made  a  scene 
at  the  gallows  ;  not  content  with  which,  I 
spoke  the  same  night  in  a  college  society 
against  capital  punishment.  This  is  the  ex- 
tent of  what  I  have  done,  and  in  case  you 
hear  more  alleged  against  me,  I  protest  my 


OPINION   OF    THE    BENCH  91 

innocence.  I  have  expressed  my  regret  al- 
ready to  my  father,  who  is  so  good  as  to 
pass  my  conduct  over  —  in  a  degree,  and 
upon  the  condition  that  I  am  to  leave  my 
law  studies."  . 


Chapter  V 

WINTER    ON    THE    MOORS 
I. AT    HERMISTON 

The  road  to  Hermiston  runs  for  a  great 
part  of  the  way  up  the  valley  of  a  stream,  a 
favourite  with  anglers  and  with  midges,  full 
of  falls  and  pools,  and  shaded  by  willows  and 
natural  woods  of  birch.  Here  and  there,  but 
at  great  distances,  a  byway  branches  off,  and 
a  gaunt  farmhouse  may  be  descried  above  in 
a  fold  of  the  hill ;  but  the  more  part  of  the 
time,  the  road  would  be  quite  empty  of  pass- 
age and  the  hills  of  habitation.  Hermiston 
parish  is  one  of  the  least  populous  in  Scot- 
land ;  and,  by  the  time  you  came  that  length, 
you  would  scarce  be  surprised  at  the  inimita- 
ble smallness  of  the  kirk,  a  dwarfish,  ancient 
place  seated  for  fifty,  and  standing  in  a  green 
by  the  burn-side  among  two-score  grave- 
stones. The  manse  close  by,  although  no 
02 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS  93 

more  than  a  cottage,  is  surrounded  by  the 
brightness  of  a  flower-garden  and  the  straw 
roofs  of  bees  ;  and  the  whole  colony,  kirk 
and  manse,  garden  and  graveyard,  finds  har- 
bourage in  a  grove  of  rowans,  and  is  all  the 
year  round  in  a  great  silence  broken  only  by 
the  drone  of  the  bees,  the  tinkle  of  the  burn, 
and  the  bell  on  Sundays.  A  mile  beyond  the 
kirk  the  road  leaves  the  valley  by  a  precipi- 
tous ascent,  and  brings  you  a  little  after  to 
the  place  of  Hermiston,  where  it  comes  to 
an  end  in  the  back-yard  before  the  coach- 
house. All  beyond  and  about  is  the  great 
field  of  the  hills  ;  the  plover,  the  curlew,  and 
the  lark  cry  there  ;  the  wind  blows  as  it  blows 
in  a  ship's  rigging,  hard  and  cold  and  pure ; 
and  the  hill-tops  huddle  one  behind  another 
like  a  herd  of  cattle  into  the  sunset. 

The  house  was  sixty  years  old,  unsightly, 
comfortable ;  a  farmyard  and  a  kitchen- 
garden  on  the  left,  with  a  fruit  wall  where 
little  hard  green  pears  came  to  their  maturity 
about  the  end  of  October. 

The  policy  (as  who  should  say  the  park) 
was  of  some  extent,  but  very  ill  reclaimed  ; 


94  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

heather  and  moorfowl.had  crossed  the  bound- 
ary wall  and  spread  and  roosted  within ;  and 
it  would  have  tasked  a  landscape  gardener  to 
say  where  policy  ended  and  unpolicied  nature 
began.  My  lord  had  been  led  by  the  influ- 
ence of  Mr.  Sheriff  Scott  into  a  considerable 
design  of  planting  ;  many  acres  were  accord- 
ingly set  out  with  fir,  and  the  little  feathery 
besoms  gave  a  false  scale  and  lent  a  strange 
air  of  a  toy-shop  to  the  moors.  A  great, 
rooty  sweetness  of  bogs  was  in  the  air,  and 
at  all  seasons  an  infinite  melancholy  piping  of 
hill  birds.  Standing  so  high  and  with  so  little 
shelter,  it  was  a  cold,  exposed  house,  splashed 
by  showers,  drenched  by  continuous  rains  that 
made  the  gutters  to  spout,  beaten  upon  and 
buffeted  by  all  the  winds  of  heaven ;  and  the 
prospect  would  be  often  black  with  tempest, 
and  often  white  with  the  snows  of  winter. 
But  the  house  was  wind  and  weather  proof, 
the  hearths  were  kept  bright,  and  the  rooms 
pleasant  with  live  fires  of  peat ;  and  Archie 
might  sit  of  an  evening  and  hear  the  squalls 
bugle  on  the  moorland,  and  watch  the  fire 
prosper  in  the  earthy  fuel,  and  the  smoke 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS  95 

winding  up  the  chimney,  and  drink  deep  of 
the  pleasures  of  shelter. 

Solitary  as  the  place  was,  Archie  did  not 
want  neighbours.  Every  night,  if  he  chose, 
he  might  go  down  to  the  manse  and  share  a 
"brewst"  of  toddy  with  the  minister — a 
hare-brained  ancient  gentleman,  long  and 
light  and  still  active,  though  his  knees  were 
loosened  with  age,  and  his  voice  broke  con- 
tinually in  childish  trebles — and  his  lady 
wife,  a  heavy,  comely  dame,  without  a  word 
to  say  for  herself  beyond  good  even  and  good 
day.  Harum-scarum,  clodpole  young  lairds 
of  the  neighbourhood  paid  him  the  compli- 
ment of  a  visit.  Young  Hay  of  Romanes 
rode  down  to  call,  on  his  crop-eared  pony; 
young  Pringle  of  Drumanno  came  up  on 
his  bony  grey.  Hay  remained  on  the  hos- 
pitable field,  and  must  be  carried  to  bed; 
Pringle  -got  somehow  to  his  saddle  about  3 
a.m.,  and  (as  Archie  stood  with  the  lamp  on 
the  upper  doorstep)  lurched,  uttered  a  sense- 
less view  hal'loa,  and  vanished  out  of  the 
small  circle  of  illumination  like  a  wraith. 
Yet  a  minute  or  two  longer  the  clatter  of 


96  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

his  break-neck  flight  was  audible,  then  it  was 
cut  off  by  the  intervening  steepness  of  the 
hill;  and  again,  a  great  while  after,  the  re- 
newed beating  of  phantom  horse-hoofs,  far 
in  the  valley  of  the  Hermiston,  showed  that 
the  horse  at  least,  if  not  his  rider,  was  still 
on  the  homeward  way. 

There  was  a  Tuesday  club  at  the  "  Cross- 
keys"  in  Crossmichael,  where  the  young 
bloods  of  the  country-side  congregated  and 
drank  deep  on  a  percentage  of  the  expense, 
so  that  he  was  left  gainer  who  should  have 
drunk  the  most.  Archie  had  no  great  mind 
to  this  diversion,  but  he  took  it  like  a  duty 
laid  upon  him,  went  with  a  decent  regularity, 
did  his  manfullest  with  the  liquor,  held  up 
his  head  in  the  local  jests,  and  got  home 
again  and  was  able  to  put  up  his  horse,  to 
the  admiration  of  Kirstie  and  the  lass  that 
helped  her.  He  dined  at  Driffel,  supped  at 
Windielaws.  He  went  to  the  new  year's 
ball  at  Huntsfield  and  was  made  welcome, 
and  thereafter  rode  to  hounds  with  my  Lord 
Muirfell,  upon  whose  name,  as  that  of  a 
legitimate  Lord  of  Parliament,  in  a  work  so 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS  97 

full  of  Lords  of  Session,  my  pen  should 
pause  reverently.  Yet  the  same  fate 
attended  him  here  as  in  Edinburgh.  The 
habit  of  solitude  tends  to  perpetuate  itself, 
and  an  austerity  of  which  he  was  quite  un- 
conscious, and  a  pride  which  seemed  arro- 
gance, and  perhaps  was  chiefly  shyness,  dis- 
couraged and  offended  his  new  companions. 
Hay  did  not  return  more  than  twice,  Pringle 
never  at  all,  and  there  came  a  time  when 
Archie  even  desisted  from  the  Tuesday  Club, 
and  became  in  all  things  —  what  he  had  had 
the  name  of  almost  from  the  first  —  the  Re- 
cluse of  Hermiston.  High-nosed  Miss 
Pringle  of  Drumanno  and  high-stepping 
Miss  Marshall  of  the  Mains  were  under- 
stood to  have  had  a  difference  of  opinion 
about  him  the  day  after  the  ball — he  was 
none  the  wiser,  he  could  not  suppose  himself 
to  be  remarked  by  these  entrancing  ladies. 
At  the  ball  itself  my  Lord  MuirfeH's  daugh- 
ter, the  Lady  Flora,  spoke  to  him  twice,  and 
the  second  time  with  a  touch  of  appeal,  so 
that  her  colour  rose  and  her  voice  trembled 
a  little  in  his  ear,  like  a  passing  grace  in 


9s  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

music.  He  stepped  back  with  a  heart  on 
fire,  coldly  and  not  ungracefully  excused  him- 
self, and  a  little  after  watched  her  dancing 
with  young  Drumanno '  of  the  empty  laugh, 
and  was  harrowed  at  the  sight,  and  raged  to 
himself  that  this  was  a  world  in  which  it  was 
given  to  Drumanno  to  please,  and  to  himself 
only  to  stand  aside  and  envy.  He  seemed 
excluded,  as  of  right,  from  the  favour  of 
such  society  —  seemed  to  extinguish  mirth 
wherever  he  came,  and  was  quick  to  feel  the 
wound,  and  desist,  and  retire  into  solitude. 
If  he  had  but  understood  the  figure  he  pre- 
sented, and  the  impression  he  made  on  these 
bright  eyes  and  tender  hearts;  if  he  had  but 
guessed  that  the  Recluse  of  Hermiston, 
young,  graceful,  well  spoken,  but  always 
cold,  stirred  the  maidens  of  the  county  with 
the  charm  of  Byronism  when  Byronism  was 
new,  it  may  be  questioned  whether  his  des- 
tiny might  not  even  yet  have  been  modified. 
It  may  be  questioned,  and  I  think  it  should 
be  doubted.  It  was  in  his  horoscope  to  be 
parsimonious  of  pain  to  himself,  or  of  the 
chance  of  pain,  even  to  the  avoidance  of  any 


WINTER  ON  THE  MOORS  99 

opportunity  of  pleasure;  to  have  a  Roman 
sense  of  duty,  an  instinctive  aristocracy  of 
manners  and  taste;  to  be  the  son  of  Adam 
Weir  and  Jean  Rutherford. 

n.  —  KIRSTIE 

Kirstie  was  now  over  fifty,  and  might  have 
sat  to  a  sculptor.  Long  of  limb  and  still 
light  of  foot,  deep-breasted,  robust-loined, 
her  golden  hair  not  yet  mingled  with  any 
trace  of  silver,  the  years  had  but  caressed  and 
embellished  her.  By  the  lines  of  a  rich  and 
vigorous  maternity,  she  seemed  destined  to 
be  the  bride  of  heroes  and  the  mother  of 
their  children  ;  and  behold,  by  the  iniquity  of 
fate,  she  had  passed  through  her  youth  alone, 
and  drew  near  to  the  confines  of  age,  a  child- 
less woman.  The  tender  ambitions  that  she 
had  received  at  birth  had  been,  by  time  and 
disappointment,  diverted  into  a  certain  barren 
zeal  of  industry  and  fury  of  interference. 
She  carried  her  thwarted  ardours  into  house- 
work, she  washed  floors  with  her  empty 
heart.  If  she  could  not  win  the  love  of  one 
with  love,  she  must  dominate  all  by  her  tern- 


ioo  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

per.  Hasty,  wordy,  and  wrathful,  she  had  a 
drawn  quarrel  with  most  of  her  neighbours, 
and  with  the  others  not  much  more  than 
armed  neutrality.  The  grieve's  wife  had 
been  "  sneisty  ;"  the  sister  of  the  gardener 
who  kept  house  for  him  had  shown  herself 
"  upsitten  ;"  and  she  wrote  to  Lord  Hermis- 
ton  about  once  a  year  demanding  the  dis- 
charge of  the  offenders,  and  justifying  the 
demand  by  much  wealth  of  detail.  For  it 
must  not  be  supposed  that  the  quarrel  rested 
with  the  wife  and  did  not  take  in  the  husband 
also  —  or  with  the  gardener's  sister,  and  did 
not  speedily  include  the  gardener  himself. 
As  the  upshot  of  all  this  petty  quarrelling 
and  intemperate  speech,  she  was  practically 
excluded  (like  a  lightkeeper  on  his  tower) 
from  the  comforts  of  human  association  ;  ex- 
cept with  her  own  indoor  drudge,  who,  being 
but  a  lassie  and  entirely  at  her  mercy,  must 
submit  to  the  shifty  weather  of  "the  mistress's  " 
moods  without  complaint,  and  be  willing  to 
take  buffets  or  caresses  according  to  the 
temper  of  the  hour.  To  Kirstie,  thus  situate 


WINTER  ON   THE   MOORS         101 

and  in  the  Indian  summer  of  her  heart,  which 
was  slow  to  submit  to  age,  the  gods  sent  this 
equivocal  good  thing  of  Archie's  presence. 
She  had  known  him  in  the  cradle  and  pad- 
dled him  when  he  misbehaved ;  and  yet,  as 
she  had  not  so  much  as  set  eyes  on  him 
since  he  was  eleven  and  had  his  last  serious 
illness,  the  tall,  slender,  refined,  and  rather 
melancholy  young  gentleman  of  twenty  came 
upon  her  with  the  shock  of  a  new  acquaint- 
ance. He  was  "  Young  Hermiston,"  "  the 
laird  himsel'  j"  he  had  an  air  of  distinctive 
superiority,  a  cold  straight  glance  of  his  black 
eyes,  that  abashed  the  woman's  tantrums  in 
the  beginning,  and  therefore  the  possibility 
of  any  quarrel  was  excluded.  He  was  new, 
and  therefore  immediately  aroused  her  curi- 
osity ;  he  was  reticent,  and  kept  it  awake. 
And  lastly  he  was  dark  and  she  fair,  and  he 
was  male  and  she  female,  the  everlasting 
fountains  of  interest. 

Her  feeling  partook  of  the  loyalty  of  a 
clanswoman,  the  hero-worship  of  a  maiden 
aunt,  and  the  idolatry  due  to  a  god.  No 
matter  what  he  had  asked  of  her,  ridiculous 


102  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

or  tragic,  she  would  have  done  it  and  joyed 
to  do  it.  Her  passion,  for  it  was  nothing 
less,  entirely  filled  her.  It  was  a  rich  physi- 
cal pleasure  to  make  his  bed  or  light  his 
lamp  for  him  when  he  was  absent,  to  pull 
off"  his  wet  boots  or  wait  on  him  at  dinner 
when  he  returned.  A  young  man  who 
should  have  so  doted  on  the  idea,  moral  and 
physical,  of  any  woman,  might  be  properly 
described  as  being  in  love,  head  and  heels, 
and  would  have  behaved  himself  accordingly. 
But  Kirstie  —  though  her  heart  leaped  at  his 
coming  footsteps  —  though,  when  he  patted 
her  shoulder,  her  face  brightened  for  the  day 
—  had  not  a  hope  or  thought  beyond  the 
present  moment  and  its  perpetuation  to  the 
end  of  time.  Till  the  end  of  time  she  would 
have  had  nothing  altered,  but  still  continue 
delightedly  to  serve  her  idol,  and  be  repaid 
(say  twice  in  the  month)  with  a  clap  on  the 
shoulder. 

I  have  said  her  heart  leaped  —  it  is  the  ac- 
cepted phrase.  But  rather,  when  she  was 
alone  in  any  chamber  of  the  house,  and 
heard  his  foot  passing  on  the  corridors,  some- 


WINTER   ON  THE   MOORS         103 

thing  in  her  bosom  rose  slowly  until  her 
breath  was  suspended,  and  as  slowly  fell 
again  with  a  deep  sigh,  when  the  steps  had 
passed  and  she  was  disappointed  of  her  eyes' 
desire.  This  perpetual  hunger  and  thirst  of 
his  presence  kept  her  all  day  on  the  alert. 
When  he  went  forth  at  morning,  she  would 
stand  and  follow  him  with  admiring  looks. 
As  it  grew  late  and  drew  to  the  time  of  his 
return,  she  would  steal  forth  to  a  corner  of 
the  policy  wall  and  be  seen  standing  there 
sometimes  by  the  hour  together,  gazing  with 
shaded  eyes,  waiting  the  exquisite  and  barren 
pleasure  of  his  view  a  mile  off  on  the  moun- 
tains. When  at  night  she  had  trimmed  and 
gathered  the  fire,  turned  down  his  bed,  and 
laid  out  his  night-gear  —  when  there  was  no 
more  to  be  done  for  the  king's  pleasure,  but 
to  remember  him  fervently  in  her  usually 
very  tepid  prayers,  and  go  to  bed  brooding 
upon  his  perfections,  his  future  career,  and 
what  she  should  give  him  the  next  day  for 
dinner  —  there  still  remained  before  her  one 
more  opportunity ;  she  was  still  to  take  in 
the  tray  and  say  good-night.  Sometimes 


104  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

Archie  would  glance  up  from  his  book  with 
a  pre-occupied  nod  and  a  perfunctory  salu- 
tation which  was  in  truth  a  dismissal ;  some- 
times—  and  by  degrees  more  often  —  the 
volume  would  be  laid  aside,  he  would  meet 
her  coming  with  a  look  of  relief;  and  the 
conversation  would  be  engaged,  last  out  the 
supper,  and  be  prolonged  till  the  small  hours 
by  the  waning  fire.  It  was  no  wonder  that 
Archie  was  fond  of  company  after  his  soli- 
tary days  ;  and  Kirstie,  upon  her  side,  exerted 
all  the  arts  of  her  vigorous  nature  to  ensnare 
his  attention.  She  would  keep  back  some 
piece  of  news  during  dinner  to  be  fired  off 
with  the  entrance  of  the  supper  tray,  and 
form  as  it  were  the  lever  de  rideau  of  the 
evening's  entertainment.  Once  he  had  heard 
her  tongue  wag,  she  made  sure  of  the  result. 
From  one  subject  to  another  she  moved  by 
insidious  transitions,  fearing  the  least  silence, 
fearing  almost  to  give  him  time  for  an 
answer  lest  it  should  slip  into  a  hint  of  sep- 
aration. Like  so  many  people  of  her  class, 
she  was  a  brave  narrator ;  her  place  was  on 
the  hearth-rug  and  she  made  it  a  rostrum, 


WINTER   ON  THE  MOORS         105 

miming  her  stories  as  she  told  them,  fitting 
them  with  vital  detail,  spinning  them  out 
with  endless  "  quo'  he's  "  and  "  quo'  she's," 
her  voice  sinking  into  a  whisper  over  the 
supernatural  or  the  horrific ;  until  she  would 
suddenly  spring  up  in  affected  surprise,  and 
pointing  to  the  clock,  "  Mercy,  Mr.  Archie  !" 
she  would  say,  "  Whatten  a  time  o'  night  is 
this  of  it !  God  forgive  me  for  a  daft  wife  !  " 
So  it  befell,  by  good  management,  that  she 
was  not  only  the  first  to  begin  these  nocturnal 
conversations,  but  invariably  the  first  to 
break  them  off;  so  she  managed  to  retire 
and  not  to  be  dismissed. 

III. A    BORDER    FAMILY 

Such  an  unequal  intimacy  has  never  been 
uncommon  in  Scotland,  where  the  clan  spirit 
survives ;  where  the  servant  tends  to  spend 
her  life  in  the  same  service,  a  helpmeet  at 
first,  then  a  tyrant,  and  at  last  a  pensioner ; 
where,  besides,  she  is  not  necessarily  destitute 
of  the  pride  of  birth,  but  is,  perhaps,  like 
Kirstie,  a  connection  of  her  master's,  and  at 
least  knows  the  legend  of  her  own  family, 


io6  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

and  may  count  kinship  with  some  illustrious 
dead.  For  that  is  the  mark  of  the  Scot  of  all 
classes:  that  he  stands  in  an  attitude  towards 
the  past  unthinkable  to  Englishmen,  and  re- 
members and  cherishes  the  memory  of  his 
forbears,  good  or  bad  ;  and  there  burns  alive 
in  him  a  sense  of  identity  with  the  dead  even 
to  the  twentieth  generation.  No  more  char- 
acteristic instance  could  be  found  than  in  the 
family  of  Kirstie  Elliott.  They  were  all,  and 
Kirstie  the  first  of  all,  ready  and  eager  to  pour 
forth  the  particulars  of  their  genealogy,  embel- 
lished with  every  detail  that  memory  had  hand- 
ed down  or  fancy  fabricated;  and,  behold!  from 
every  ramification  of  that  tree  there  dangled 
a  halter.  The  Elliotts  themselves  have  had 
a  chequered  history  ;  but  these  Elliotts  de- 
duced, besides,  from  three  of  the  most  un- 
fortunate of  the  border  clans — the  Nicksons, 
the  Ellwalds,  and  the  Crozers.  One  ances- 
tor after  another  might  be  seen  appearing  a 
moment  out  of  the  rain  and  the  hill  mist 
upon  his  furtive  business,  speeding  home, 
perhaps,  with  a  paltry  booty  of  lame  horses 
and  lean  kine,  or  squealing  and  dealing  death 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS         107 

in  some  moorland  feud  of  the  ferrets  and  the 
wildcats.  One  after  another  closed  his  ob- 
scure adventures  in  mid-air,  triced  up  to  the 
arm  of  the  royal  gibbet  or  the  Baron's  dule- 
tree.  For  the  rusty  blunderbuss  of  Scots 
criminal  justice,  which  usually  hurts  nobody 
but  jurymen,  became  a  weapon  of  precision 
for  the  Nicksons,  the  Ellwalds,  and  the 
Crozers.  The  exhilaration  of  their  exploits 
seemed  to  haunt  the  memories  of  their  de- 
scendants alone,  and  the  shame  to  be  forgot- 
ten. Pride  glowed  in  their  bosoms  to  publish 
their  relationship  to  "  Andrew  Ellwald  of  the 
Laverockstanes,  called  c  Unchancy  Dand,' 
who  was  justifeed  wi'  seeven  mair  of  the 
same  name  at  Jeddart  in  the  days  of  King 
James  the  Sax."  In  all  this  tissue  of  crime 
and  misfortune,  the  Elliotts  of  Cauldstane- 
slap  had  one  boast  which  must  appear  legiti- 
mate :  the  males  were  gallows-birds,  born  out- 
laws, petty  thieves,  and  deadly  brawlers;  but 
according  to  the  same  tradition,  the  females 
were  all  chaste  and  faithful.  The  power  of 
ancestry  on  the  character  is  not  limited  to  the 
inheritance  of  cells.  If  I  buy  ancestors  by 


io8  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

the  gross  from  the  benevolence  of  Lion  King 
at  Arms,  my  grandson  (if  he  is  Scottish)  will 
feel  a  quickening  emulation  of  their  deeds. 
The  men  of  the  Elliotts  were  proud,  lawless, 
violent  as  of  right,  cherishing  and  prolonging 
a  tradition.  In  like  manner  with  the  women. 
And  the  women,  essentially  passionate  and 
reckless,  who  crouched  on  the  rug,  in  the 
shine  of  the  peat  fire,  telling  these  tales,  had 
cherished  through  life  a  wild  integrity  of  vir- 
tue. 

Her  father  Gilbert  had  been  deeply  pious, 
a  savage  disciplinarian  in  the  antique  style, 
and  withal  a  notorious  smuggler.  "  I  mind 
when  I  was  a  bairn  getting  mony  a  skelp 
and  being  shoo'd  to  bed  like  pou'try,"  she 
would  say.  "  That  would  be  when  the  lads 
and  their  bit  kegs  were  on  the  road.  We've 
had  the  riffraff  of  two-three  counties  in  our 
kitchen,  mony's  the  time,  betwix'  the  twelve 
and  the  three  ;  and  their  lanterns  would  be 
standing  in  the  forecourt,  ay,  a  score  o'  them 
at  once.  But  there  was  nae  ungodly  talk 
permitted  at  Cauldstaneslap ;  my  faither  was 
a  consistent  man  in  walk  and  conversation  j 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS         109 

just  let  slip  an  aith,  and  there  was  the  door 
to  ye  !  He  had  that  zeal  for  the  Lord,  it  was 
a  fair  wonder  to  hear  him  pray,  but  the 
faimily  has  aye  had  a  gift  that  way."  This 
father  was  twice  married,  once  to  a  dark 
woman  of  the  old  Ellwald  stock,  by  whom 
he  had  Gilbert,  presently  of  Cauldstaneslap ; 
and,  secondly,  to  the  mother  of  Kirstie. 
"  He  was  an  auld  man  when  he  married 
her,  a  fell  auld  man  wi'  a  muckle  voice  — 
you  could  hear  him  rowting  from  the  top  o' 
the  kye-stairs,"  she  said ;  "  but  for  her,  it 
appears,  she  was  a  perfit  wonder.  It  was 
gentle  blood  she  had,  Mr.  Archie,  for  it  was 
your  ain.  The  country-side  gaed  gyte  about 
her  and  her  gowden  hair.  Mines  is  no  to  be 
mentioned  wi'  it,  and  there's  few  weemen 
has  mair  hair  than  what  I  have,  or  yet  a  bon- 
nier colour.  Often  would  I  tell  my  dear 
Miss  Jeannie  —  that  was  your  mother,  dear, 
she  was  cruel  ta'en  up  about  her  hair,  it  was 
unco  tender,  ye  see  — l  Houts,  Miss  Jean- 
nie,' I  would  say,  'just  fling  your  washes  and 
your  French  dentifrishes  in  the  back  o'  the 


no  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

fire,  for  that's  the  place  for  them  ;  and  awa' 
down  to  a  burn-side,  and  wash  yersel  in  cauld 
hill  water,  and  dry  your  bonny  hair  in  the 
caller  wind  o'  the  muirs,  the  way  that  my 
mother  aye  washed  hers,  and  that  I  have  aye 
made  it  a  practice  to  have  washen  mines  — 
just  you  do  what  I  tell  ye,  my  dear,  and  ye'll 
give  me  news  of  it  !  Ye'll  have  hair,  and 
routh  of  hair,  a  pigtail  as  thick's  my  arm,'  I 
said,  '  and  the  bonniest  colour  like  the  clear 
gowden  guineas,  so  as  the  lads  in  kirk'll  no 
can  keep  their  eyes  off  it ! '  Weel,  it  lasted 
out  her  time,  puir  thing  !  I  cuttit  a  lock  of 
it  upon  her  corp  that  was  lying  there  sae 
cauld.  I'll  show  it  ye  some  of  thir  days  if 
ye're  good.  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  my 

midier " 

On  the  death  of  the  father  there  re- 
mained golden-haired  Kirstie,  who  took  ser- 
vice with  her  distant  kinsfolk,  the  Ruther- 
fords,  and  black-a-vised  Gilbert,  twenty 
years  older,  who  farmed  the  Cauldstane- 
slap,  married,  and  begot  four  sons  between 
1773  and  1784,  and  a  daughter,  like  a  post- 
script, in  '97,  the  year  of  Camperdown  and 


WINTER   ON  THE   MOORS       in 

Cape  St.  Vincent.  It  seemed  it  was  a  tra- 
dition of  the  family  to  wind  up  with  a  be- 
lated girl.  In  1804,  at  tne  age  °f  sixty, 
Gilbert  met  an  end  that  might  be  called 
heroic.  He  was  due  home  from  market  any 
time  from  eight  at  night  till  five  in  the 
morning,  and  in  any  condition  from  the  quar- 
relsome to  the  speechless,  for  he  maintained 
to  that  age  the  goodly  customs  of  the  Scots 
farmer.  It  was  known  on  this  occasion  that 
he  had  a  good  bit  of  money  to  bring  home ; 
the  word  had  gone  round  loosely.  The  laird 
had  shown  his  guineas,  and  if  anybody  had 
but  noticed  it,  there  was  an  ill-looking,  vaga- 
bond crew,  the  scum  of  Edinburgh,  that 
drew  out  of  the  market  long  ere  it  was  dusk 
and  took  the  hill-road  by  Hermiston,  where 
it  was  not  to  be  believed  that  they  had  lawful 
business.  One  of  the  country-side,  one 
Dickieson,  they  took  with  them  to  be  their 
guide,  and  dear  he  paid  for  it !  Of  a  sudden, 
in  the  ford  of  the  Broken  Dykes,  this  vermin 
clan  fell  on  the  laird,  six  to  one,  and  him 
three  parts  asleep,  having  drunk  hard.  But  it 
is  ill  to  catch  an  Elliott.  For  awhile,  in  the 


H3  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

night  and  the  black  water  that  was  deep  as  to 
his  saddle-girths,  he  wrought  with  his  staff 
like  a  smith  at  his  stithy,  and  great  was  the 
sound  of  oaths  and  blows.  With  that  the 
ambuscade  was  burst,  and  he  rode  for  home 
with  a  pistol-ball  in  him,  three  knife-wounds, 
the  loss  of  his  front  teeth,  a  broken  rib  and 
bridle,  and  a  dying  horse.  That  was  a  race 
with  death  that  the  laird  rode  !  In  the  mirk 
night,  with  his  broken  bridle  and  his  head 
swimming,  he  dug  his  spurs  to  the  rowels  in 
the  horse's  side,  and  the  horse,  that  was  even 
worse  off  than  himself,  the  poor  creature  ! 
screamed  out  loud  like  a  person  as  he  went, 
so  that  the  hills  echoed  with  it,  and  the  folks 
at  Cauldstaneslap  got  to  their  feet  about  the 
table  and  looked  at  each  other  with  white 
faces.  The  horse  fell  dead  at  the  yard  gate, 
the  laird  won  the  length  of  the  house  and  fell 
there  on  the  threshold.  To  the  son  that 
raised  him  he  gave  the  bag  of  money.  "  Hae," 
said  he.  All  the  way  up  the  thieves  had 
seemed  to  him  to  be  at  his  heels,  but  now 
the  hallucination  left  him  —  he  saw  them 
again  in  the  place  of  the  ambuscade  —  and 


WINTER  ON  THE  MOORS         113 

the  thirst  of  vengeance  seized  on  his  dying 
mind.  Raising  himself  and  pointing  with  an 
imperious  finger  into  the  black  night  from 
which  he  had  come,  he  uttered  the  single 
command,  "  Brocken  Dykes,"  and  fainted. 
He  had  never  been  loved,  but  he  had  been 
feared  in  honour.  At  that  sight,  at  that 
word,  gasped  out  at  them  from  a  toothless 
and  bleeding  mouth,  the  old  Elliott  spirit 
awoke  with  a  shout  in  the  four  sons. 
"  Wanting  the  hat,"  continues  my  author, 
Kirstie,  whom  I  but  haltingly  follow,  for  she 
told  this  tale  like  one  inspired,  "  wanting 
guns,  for  there  wasnae  twa  grains  o'  pouder 
in  the  house,  wi'  nae  mair  weepons  than 
their  sticks  into  their  hands,  the  fower  o' 
them  took  the  road.  Only  Hob,  and  that 
was  the  eldest,  hunkered  at  the  door-sill 
where  the  blood  had  rin,  fyled  his  hand  wi' 
it,  and  haddit  it  up  to  Heeven  in  the  way  o' 
the  auld  Border  aith.  '  Hell  shall  have  her 
ain  again  this  nicht ! '  he  raired,  and  rode 
forth  upon  his  errand."  It  was  three  miles 
to  Broken  Dykes,  down  hill,  and  a  sore  road. 


H4  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

Kirstie  has  seen  men  from  Edinburgh  dis- 
mounting there  in  plain  day  to  lead  their 
horses.  But  the  four  brothers  rode  it  as  if 
Auld  Hornie  were  behind  and  Heaven  in 
front.  Come  to  the  ford,  and  there  was 
Dickieson.  By  all  tales,  he  was  not  dead, 
but  breathed  and  reared  upon  his  elbow,  and 
cried  out  to  them  for  help.  It  was  at  a  grace- 
less face  that  he  asked  mercy.  As  soon  as 
Hob  saw,  by  the  glint  of  the  lantern,  the 
eyes  shining  and  the  whiteness  of  the  teeth 
in  the  man's  face,  "  Damn  you  !  "  says  he ; 
"  ye  hae  your  teeth,  hae  ye  ?  "  and  rode  his 
horse  to  and  fro  upon  that  human  remnant. 
Beyond  that,  Dandie  must  dismount  with  the 
lantern  to  be  their  guide ;  he  was  the  young- 
est son,  scarce  twenty  at  the  time.  "  A' 
nicht  long  they  gaed  in  the  wet  heath  and 
jennipers,  and  whaur  they  gaed  they  neither 
knew  nor  cared,  but  just  followed  the  bluid- 
stains  and  the  footprints  o'  their  faither's 
murderers.  And  a'  nicht  Dandie  had  his 
nose  to  the  grund  like  a  tyke,  and  the  ithers 
followed  and  spak'  naething,  neither  black 
nor  white.  There  was  nae  noise  to  be 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS         115 

heard,  but  just  the  sough  of  the  swalled 
burns,  and  Hob,  the  dour  yin,  risping  his 
teeth  as  he  gaed."  With  the  first  glint  of 
the  morning  they  saw  they  were  on  the 
drove  road,  and  at  that  the  four  stopped 
and  had  a  dram  to  their  breakfasts,  for  they 
knew  that  Dand  must  have  guided  them 
right,  and  the  rogues  could  be  but  little 
ahead,  hot  foot  for  Edinburgh  by  the  way  of 
the  Pentland  Hills.  By  eight  o'clock  they 
had  word  of  them  —  a  shepherd  had  seen 
four  men  "  uncoly  mishandled  "  go  by  in  the 
last  hour.  "  That's  yin  a  piece,"  says  Clem, 
and  swung  his  cudgel.  "  Five  o'  them  !  " 
says  Hob.  "  God's  death,  but  the  faither 
was  a  man  !  And  him  drunk  !  "  And  then 
there  befell  them  what  my  author  termed  "  a 
sair  misbegowk,"  for  they  were  overtaken  by 
a  posse  of  mounted  neighbors  come  to  aid  in 
the  pursuit.  Four  sour  faces  looked  on  the 
reinforcement.  "The  deil's  broughten  you!" 
said  Clem,  and  they  rode  thenceforward  in 
the  rear  of  the  party  with  hanging  heads. 
Before  ten  they  had  found  and  secured  the 


n6  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

rogues,  and  by  three  of  the  afternoon,  as 
they  rode  up  the  Vennel  with  their  prisoners, 
they  were  aware  of  a  concourse  of  people 
bearing  in  their  midst  something  that  dripped. 
"  For  the  boady  of  the  saxt,"  pursued  Kirs- 
tie,  "  wi'  his  head  smashed  like  a  hazelnit, 
had  been  a'  that  nicht  in  the  chairge  o'  Her- 
miston  Water,  and  it  dunting  it  on  the 
stanes,  and  grunding  it  on  the  shallows,  and 
flinging  the  deid  thing  heels-ower-hurdie  at 
the  Fa's  o'  Spango;  and  in  the  first  o'  the  day 
Tweed  had  got  a  hold  o'  him  and  carried 
him  off  like  a  wind,  for  it  was  uncoly  swalled 
and  raced  wi'  him,  bobbing  under  brae- 
sides,  and  was  long  playing  with  the  creature 
in  the  drumlie  lynns  under  the  castle,  and  at 
the  hinder  end  of  all  cuist  him  up  on  the 
starling  of  Crossmichael  brig.  Sae  there  they 
were  a'  thegither  at  last  (for  Dickieson  had 
been  brought  in  on  a  cart  long  syne),  and 
folk  could  see  what  mainner  o'  man  my 
brither  had  been  that  had  held  his  head 
again  sax  and  saved  the  siller,  and  him 
drunk  !  "  Thus  died  of  honourable  injuries 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS          117 

and  in  the  savour  of  fame  Gilbert  Elliott  of 
the  Cauldstaneslap  ;  but  his  sons  had  scarce 
less  glory  out  of  the  business.  Their  savage 
haste,  the  skill  with  which  Dand  had  found 
and  followed  the  trail,  the  barbarity  to  the 
wounded  Dickieson  (which  was  like  an  open 
secret  in  the  county)  and  the  doom  which  it 
was  currently  supposed  they  had  intended  for 
the  others,  struck  and  stirred  popular  imagi- 
nation. Some  century  earlier  the  last  of  the 
minstrels  might  have  fashioned  the  last  of 
the  ballads  out  of  that  Homeric  fight  and 
chase  ;  but  the  spirit  was  dead,  or  had  been 
reincarnated  already  in  Mr.  Sheriff  Scott,  and 
the  degenerate  moorsmen  must  be  content  to 
tell  the  tale  in  prose  and  to  make  of  the 
"  Four  Black  Brothers "  a  unit  after  the 
fashion  of  the  "  Twelve  Apostles "  or  the 
"  Three  Musketeers." 

Robert,  Gilbert,  Clement,  and  Andrew  — 
in  the  proper  Border  diminutive,  Hob,  Gib, 
Clem  and  Dand  Elliott — these  ballad  heroes 
had  much  in  common;  in  particular,  their 
high  sense  of  the  family  and  the  family  hon- 
our; but  they  went  diverse  ways,  and  pros- 


Il8  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

pered  and  failed  in  different  businesses.  Ac- 
cording to  Kirstie,  "they  had  a'  bees  in  their 
bonnets  but  Hob."  Hob  the  laird  was, 
indeed,  essentially  a  decent  man.  An  elder 
of  the  Kirk,  nobody  had  heard  an  oath  upon 
his  lips,  save,  perhaps,  thrice  or  so  at  the 
sheep-washing,  since  the  chase  of  his  father's 
murderers.  The  figure  he  had  shown  on 
that  eventful  night  disappeared  as  if  swal- 
lowed by  a  trap.  He  who  had  ecstatically 
dipped  his  hand  in  the-red  blood,  he  who  had 
ridden  down  Dickieson,  became,  from  that 
moment  on,  a  stiff  and  rather  graceless  model 
of  the  rustic  proprieties;  cannily  profiting  by 
the  high  war  prices,  and  yearly  stowing  away 
a  little  nest-egg  in  the  bank  against  calamity; 
approved  of  and  sometimes  consulted  by  the 
greater  lairds  for  the  massive  and  placid  sense 
of  what  he  said,  when  he  could  be  induced 
to  say  anything;  and  particularly  valued  by 
the  minister,  Mr.  Torrance,  as  a  righthand 
man  in  the  parish,  and  a  model  to  parents. 
The  transfiguration  had  been  for  the  moment 
only;  some  Barbarossa,  some  old  Adam  of 
our  ancestors,  sleeps  in  all  of  us  till  the  fit 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS         119 

circumstance  shall  call  it  into  action;  and 
for  as  sober  as  he  now  seemed,  Hob  had 
given  once  for  all  the  measure  of  the  devil 
that  haunted  him.  He  was  married,  and,  by 
reason  of  the  effulgence  of  that  legendary 
night,  was  adored  by  his  wife.  He  had  a 
mob  of  little  lusty,  barefoot  children  who 
marched  in  a  caravan  the  long  miles  to 
school,  the  stages  of  whose  pilgrimage  were 
marked  by  acts  of  spoliation  and  mischief, 
and  who  were  qualified  in  the  country-side 
as  "fair  pests."  But  in  the  house,  if  "faither 
was  in,"  they  were  quiet  as  mice.  In  short, 

Hob  moved  through   life  in  a  great  peace 

the  reward  of  anyone  who  shall  have  killed 
his  man,  with  any  formidable  and  figurative 
circumstance,  in  the  midst  of  a  country 
gagged  and  swaddled  with  civilisation. 

It  was  a  current  remark  that  the  Elliotts 
were  "  guid  and  bad,  like  sanguishes  "  ;  and 
certainly  there  was  a  curious  distinction,  the 
men  of  business  coming  alternately  with  the 
dreamers.  The  second  brother,  Gib,  was  a 
weaver  by  trade,  had  gone  out  early  into  the 
world  to  Edinburgh,  and  come  home  again 


120  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

with  his  wings  singed.  There  was  an  exalta- 
tion in  his  nature  which  had  led  him  to  em- 
brace with  enthusiasm  the  principles  of  the 
French  Revolution,  and  had  ended  by  bring- 
ing him  under  the  hawse  of  my  Lord  Her- 
miston  in  that  furious  onslaught  of  his  upon 
the  Liberals,  which  sent  Muir  and  Palmer 
into  exile  and  dashed  the  party  into  chaff.  It 
was  whispered  that  my  lord,  in  his  great  scorn 
for  the  movement,  and  prevailed  upon  a  little 
by  a  sense  of  neighbourliness,  had  given  Gib 
a  hint.  Meeting  him  one  day  in  the  Potter- 
row,  my  lord  had  stopped  in  front  of  him. 
"  Gib,  ye  eediot,"  he  had  said,  "  what's  this  I 
hear  of  you  ?  Poalitics,  poalitics,  poalitics, 
weaver's  poalitics,  is  the  way  of  it,  I  hear. 
If  ye  arenae  a'  thegether  dozened  with  eedi- 
ocy,  ye'll  gang  your  ways  back  to  Cauld- 
staneslap,  and  ca'  your  loom,  and  ca'  your 
loom,  man  !  "  And  Gilbert  had  taken  him 
at  the  word  and  returned,  with  an  expedition 
almost  to  be  called  flight,  to  the  house  of  his 
father.  The  clearest  of  his  inheritance  was 
that  family  gift  of  prayer  of  which  Kirstie 


WINTER  ON   THE   MOORS         12 1 

had  boasted ;  and  the  baffled  politician  now 
turned  his  attention  to  religious  matters — or, 
as  others  said,  to  heresy  and  schism.  Every 
Sunday  morning  he  was  in  Crossmichael, 
where  he  had  gathered  together,  one  by  one, 
a  sect  of  about  a  dozen  persons,  who  called 
themselves  "  God's  Remnant  of  the  True 
Faithful,"  or,  for  short,  "  God's  Remnant." 
To  the  profane,  they  were  known  as  "  Gib's 
Deils."  Baillie  Sweedie,  a  noted  humorist 
in  the  town,  vowed  that  the  proceedings 
always  opened  to  the  tune  of  "  The  Deil  Fly 
Away  with  the  Exciseman,"  and  that  the 
sacrament  was  dispensed  in  the  form  of  hot 
whiskey  toddy ;  both  wicked  hits  at  the 
evangelist,  who  had  been  suspected  of  smug- 
gling in  his  youth,  and  had  been  overtaken 
(as  the  phrase  went)  on  the  streets  of  Cross- 
michael one  Fair  day.  It  was  known  that 
every  Sunday  they  prayed  for  a  blessing  on 
the  arms  of  Bonaparte.  For  this,  "  God's 
Remnant,"  as  they  were  "  skailing  "  from  the 
cottage  that  did  duty  for  a  temple,  had  been 
repeatedly  stoned  by  the  bairns,  and  Gib  him- 


122  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

self  hooted  by  a  squadron  of  Border  volun- 
teers in  which  his  own  brother,  Dand,  rode 
in  a  uniform  and  with  a  drawn  sword.  The 
"  Remnant "  were  believed,  besides,  to  be 
"  antinomian  in  principle,"  which  might 
otherwise  have  been  a  serious  charge,  but  the 
way  public  opinion  then  blew  it  was  quite 
swallowed  up  and  forgotten  in  the  scandal 
about  Bonaparte.  For  the  rest,  Gilbert  had 
set  up  his  loom  in  an  outhouse  at  Cauld- 
staneslap,  where  he  laboured  assiduously  six 
days  of  the  week.  His  brothers,  appalled 
by  his  political  opinions  and  willing  to  avoid 
dissension  in  the  household,  spoke  but  little 
to  him ;  he  less  to  them,  remaining  absorbed 
in  the  study  of  the  Bible  and  almost  constant 
prayer.  The  gaunt  weaver  was  dry-nurse  at 
Cauldstaneslap,  and  the  bairns  loved  him 
dearly.  Except  when  he  was  carrying  an 
infant  in  his  arms,  he  was  rarely  seen  to 
smile — as,  indeed,  there  were  few  smilers  in 
that  family.  When  his  sister-in-law  rallied 
him,  and  proposed  that  he  should  get  a  wife 
and  bairns  of  his  own,  since  he  was  so  fond 
of  them,  "  I  have  no  clearness  of  mind  upon 


WINTER   ON   THE   MOORS         123 

that  point,"  he  would  reply.  If  nobody 
called  him  in  to  dinner,  he  stayed  out.  Mrs. 
Hob,  a  hard,  unsympathetic  woman,  once 
tried  the  experiment.  He  went  without  food 
all  day,  but  at  dusk,  as  the  light  began  to  fail 
him,  he  came  into  the  house  of  his  own  ac- 
cord, looking  puzzled.  "  I've  had  a  great 
gale  of  prayer  upon  my  speerit,"  said  he. 
"  I  canna  mind  sae  muckle's  what  I  had  for 
denner."  The  creed  of  God's  Remnant  was 
justified  in  the  life  of  its  founder.  "  And 
yet  I  dinna  ken,"  said  Kirstie.  "  He's  maybe 
no  more  stockfish  than  his  neeghbours  !  He 
rode  wi'  the  rest  o'  them,  and  had  a  good 
stamach  to  the  work,  by  a'  that  I  hear  !  God's 
Remnant  !  The  deil's  clavers !  There 
wasna  muckle  Christianity  in  the  way  Hob 
guided  Johnny  Dickieson,  at  the  least  of  it ; 
but  Guid  kens  !  Is  he  a  Christian  even  ? 
He  might  be  a  Mahommedan  or  a  Deevil  or 
a  Fireworshipper,  for  what  I  ken." 

The  third  brother  had  his  name  on  a  door- 
plate,  no  less,  in  the  city  of  Glasgow,  "  Mr. 
Clement  Elliott,"  as  long  as  your  arm.  In 
his  case,  that  spirit  of  innovation  which  had 


124  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

shown  itself  timidly  in  the  case  of  Hob  by 
the  admission  of  new  manures,  and  which 
had  run  to  waste  with  Gilbert  in  subversive 
politics  and  heretical  religions,  bore  useful 
fruit  in  many  ingenious  mechanical  improve- 
ments. In  boyhood,  from  his  addiction  to 
strange  devices  of  sticks  and  string,  he  had 
been  counted  the  most  eccentric  of  the  family. 
But  that  was  all  by  now,  and  he  was  a  part- 
ner of  his  firm,  and  looked  to  die  a  baillie. 
He  too  had  married,  and  was  rearing  a 
plentiful  family  in  the  smoke  and  din  of  Glas- 
gow ;  he  was  wealthy,  and  could  have  bought 
out  his  brother,  the  cock-laird,  six  times 
over,  it  was  whispered ;  and  when  he  slipped 
away  to  Cauldstaneslap  for  a  well-earned 
holiday,  which  he  did  as  often  as  he  was 
able,  he  astonished  the  neighbours  with  his 
broadcloth,  his  beaver  hat,  and  the  ample 
plies  of  his  neck-cloth.  Though  an  emi- 
nently solid  man  at  bottom,  after  the  pattern 
of  Hob,  he  had  contracted  a  certain  Glasgow 
briskness  and  aplomb  which  set  him  off.  All 
the  other  Elliotts  were  as  lean  as  a  rake,  but 
Clement  was  laying  on  fat,  and  he  panted 


WINTER  ON  THE  MOORS         125 

sorely  when  he  must  get  into  his  boots. 
Dand  said,  chuckling  :  "  Ay,  Clem  has  the 
elements  of  a  corporation."  "  A  provost 
and  corporation,"  returned  Clem.  And  his 
readiness  was  much  admired. 

The  fourth  brother,  Dand,  was  a  shepherd 
to  his  trade,  and  by  starts,  when  he  could 
bring  his  mind  to  it,  excelled  in  the  business. 
Nobody  could  train  a  dog  like  Dandie ; 
nobody,  through  the  peril  of  great  storms  in 
the  winter  time,  could  do  more  gallantly. 
But  if  his  dexterity  were  exquisite,  his  dili- 
gence was  but  fitful ;  and  he  served  his 
brother  for  bed  and  board,  and  a  trifle  of 
pocket-money  when  he  asked  for  it.  He 
loved  money  well  enough,  knew  very  well 
how  to  spend  it,  and  could  make  a  shrewd 
bargain  when  he  liked.  But  he  preferred  a 
vague  knowledge  that  he  was  well  to  wind- 
ward to  any  counted  coins  in  the  pocket ; 
he  felt  himself  richer  so.  Hob  would  expos- 
tulate :  "  I'm  an  amature  herd,"  Dand  would 
reply  :  "  I'll  keep  your  sheep  to  you  when 
I'm  so  minded,  but  I'll  keep  my  liberty  too. 
Thir's  no  man  can  coandescend  on  what 


126  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

I'm  worth."  Clem  would  expound  to  him 
the  miraculous  results  of  compound  interest, 
and  recommend  investments.  "Ay,  man  ?" 
Dand  would  say,  "  and  do  you  think,  if  I 
took  Hob's  siller,  that  I  wouldna  drink  it 
or  wear  it  on  the  lassies  ?  And,  anyway, 
my  kingdom  is  no  of  this  world.  Either 
I'm  a  poet  or  else  I'm  nothing."  Clem 
would  remind  him  of  old  age.  "  I'll  die 
young,  like  Robbie  Burns,"  he  would  say 
stoutly.  No  question  but  he  had  a  certain 
accomplishment  in  minor  verse.  His  "  Her- 
miston  Burn,"  with  its  pretty  refrain  — 

"I  love  to  gang  thinking  whaur  ye  gang  linking, 
Hermiston  burn,  in  the  howe;" 

his  "Auld,  auld  Elliotts,  clay-cauld  Elliotts, 
dour,  bauld  Elliotts  of  auld,"  and  his  really 
fascinating  piece  about  the  Praying  Weaver's 
Stone,  had  gained  him  in  the  neighbourhood 
the  reputation,  still  possible  in  Scotland,  of  a 
local  bard ;  and,  though  not  printed  himself, 
he  was  recognized  by  others  who  were  and 
who  had  become  famous.  Walter  Scott 
owed  to  Dandie  the  text  of  the  "  Raid  of 
Wearie "  in  the  Minstrelsy  and  made  him 


WINTER  ON   THE   MOORS         127 

welcome  at  his  house,  and  appreciated  his 
talents,  such  as  they  were,  with  all  his  usual 
generosity.  The  Ettrick  Shepherd  was  his 
sworn  crony ;  they  would  meet,  drink  to 
excess,  roar  out  their  lyrics  in  each  other's 
faces,  and  quarrel  and  make  it  up  again  till 
bedtime.  And  besides  these  recognitions, 
almost  to  be  called  official,  Dandie  was  made 
welcome  for  the  sake  of  his  gift  through  the 
farmhouses  of  several  contiguous  dales,  and 
was  thus  exposed  to  manifold  temptations 
which  he  rather  sought  than  fled.  He  had 
figured  on  the  stool  of  repentance,  for  once 
fulfilling  to  the  letter  the  tradition  of  his  hero 
and  model.  His  humorous  verses  to  Mr. 
Torrance  on  that  occasion  —  "  Kenspeckle 
here  my  lane  I  stand  " —  unfortunately  too 
indelicate  for  further  citation,  ran  through 
the  country  like  a  fiery  cross ;  they  were  re- 
cited, quoted,  paraphrased  and  laughed  over 
as  far  away  as  Dumfries  on  the  one  hand  and 
Dunbar  on  the  other. 

These  four  brothers  were  united  by  a 
close  bond,  the  bond  of  that  mutual  ad- 
miration —  or  rather  mutual  hero-worship  — 


128  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

which  is  so  strong  among  the  members 
of  secluded  families  who  have  much  ability 
and  little  culture.  Even  the  extremes 
admired  each  other.  Hob,  who  had  as 
much  poetry  as  the  tongs,  professed  to 
find  pleasure  in  Band's  verses ;  Clem,  who 
had  no  more  religion  than  Claverhouse, 
nourished  a  heartfelt,  at  least  an  open- 
mouthed,  admiration  of  Gib's  prayers;  and 
Dandie  followed  with  relish  the  rise  of 
Clem's  fortunes.  Indulgence  followed  hard 
on  the  heels  of  admiration.  The  laird, 
Clem  and  Dand,  who  were  Tories  and 
patriots  of  the  hottest  quality,  excused  to 
themselves,  with  a  certain  bashfulness,  the 
radical  and  revolutionary  heresies  of  Gib. 
By  another  division  of  the  family,  the  laird, 
Clem,  and  Gib,  who  were  men  exactly  vir- 
tuous, swallowed  the  dose  of  Dand's  irregu- 
larities as  a  kind  of  clog  or  drawback  in  the 
mysterious  providence  of  God  affixed  to 
bards,  and  distinctly  probative  of  poetical 
genius.  To  appreciate  the  simplicity  of 
their  mutual  admiration,  it  was  necessary  to 
hear  Clem,  arrived  upon  one  of  his  visits, 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS          129 

and  dealing  in  a  spirit  of  continuous  irony 
with  the  affairs  and  personalities  of  that  great 
city  of  Glasgow  where  he  lived  and  trans- 
acted business.  The  various  personages, 
ministers  of  the  church,  municipal  officers, 
mercantile  big-wigs,  whom  he  had  occasion 
to  introduce,  were  all  alike  denigrated,  all 
served  but  as  reflectors  to  cast  back  a  flatter- 
ing side-light  on  the  house  of  Cauldstaneslap. 
The  Provost,  for  whom  Clem  by  exception 
entertained  a  measure  of  respect,  he  would 
liken  to  Hob.  "He  minds  me  o'  the  laird 
there,"  he  would  say.  "He  has  some  of 
Hob's  grand,  whun-stane  sense,  and  the  same 
way  with  him  of  steiking  his  mouth  when 
he 's  no  very  pleased."  And  Hob,  all  un- 
conscious, would  draw  down  his  upper  lip 
and  produce,  as  if  for  comparison,  the  for- 
midable grimace  referred  to.  The  unsatis- 
factory incumbent  of  St.  Enoch's  Kirk  was 
thus  briefly  dismissed:  "If  he  had  but  twa 
fingers  o'  Gib's  he  would  waken  them  up." 
And  Gib,  honest  man !  would  look  down  and 
secretly  smile.  Clem  was  a  spy  whom  they 
had  sent  out  into  the  world  of  men.  He  had 


130  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

come  back  with  the  good  news  that  there 
was  nobody  to  compare  with  the  Four  Black 
Brothers,  no  position  that  they  would  not 
adorn,  no  official  that  it  would  not  be  well 
they  should  replace,  no  interest  of  mankind, 
secular  or  spiritual,  which  would  not  imme- 
diately bloom  under  their  supervision.  The 
excuse  of  their  folly  is  in  two  words:  scarce 
the  breadth  of  a  hair  divided  them  from  the 
peasantry.  The  measure  of  their  sense  is 
this:  that  these  symposia  of  rustic  vanity 
were  kept  entirely  within  the  family,  like 
some  secret  ancestral  practice.  To  the 
world  their  serious  faces  were  never  deformed 
by  the  suspicion  of  any  simper  of  self-con- 
tentment. Yet  it  was  known.  "They  hae 
a  guid  pride  o'  themsel's  !  "  was  the  word  in 
the  country-side. 

Lastly,  in  a  Border  story,  there  should  be 
added  their  "  two-names."  Hob  was  The 
Laird.  "  Roy  ne  puis,  prince  ne  daigne  " ; 
he  was  the  laird  of  Cauldstaneslap — say  fifty 
acres  —  ipsissimus.  Clement  was  Mr.  Elliott, 
as  upon  his  door-plate,  the  earlier  Dafty 
having  been  discarded  as  no  longer  applicable, 


WINTER  ON  THE   MOORS         131 

and  indeed  only  a  reminder  of  misjudgment 
and  the  imbecility  of  the  public ;  and  the 
youngest,  in  honour  of  his  perpetual  wander- 
ings, was  known  by  the  sobriquet  of  Randy 
Band. 

It  will  be  understood  that  not  all  this  in- 
formation was  communicated  by  the  aunt, 
who  had  too  much  of  the  family  failing  her- 
self to  appreciate  it  thoroughly  in  others. 
But  as  time  went  on,  Archie  began  to  ob- 
serve an  omission  in  the  family  chronicle. 

"  Is  there  not  a  girl  too  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ay.  Kirstie.  She  was  named  from  me, 
or  my  grandmother  at  least  —  it's  the  same 
thing,"  returned  the  aunt,  and  went  on  again 
about  Dand,  whom  she  secretly  preferred  by 
reason  of  his  gallantries. 

u  But  what  is  your  niece  like  ? "  said 
Archie  at  the  next  opportunity. 

"  Her  ?  As  black's  your  hat !  But  I 
dinna  suppose  she  would  maybe  be  what  you 
would  ca'  ill-looked  a'  thegither.  Na,  she's  a 
kind  of  a  handsome  jaud  —  a  kind  o'  gipsy," 
said  the  aunt,  who  had  two  sets  of  scales  for 
men  and  women  —  or  perhaps  it  would  be 


I32  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

more  fair  to  say  that  she  had  three,  and  the 
third  and  the  most  loaded  was  for  girls. 

"  How  comes  it  that  I  never  see  her  in 
church  ? "  said  Archie. 

"  'Deed,  and  I  believe  she's  in  Glesgie  with 
Clem  and  his  wife.  A  heap  good  she's  like 
to  get  of  it !  I  dinna  say  for  men  folk,  but 
where  weemen  folk  are  born,  there  let  them 
bide.  Glory  to  God,  I  was  never  far'er  from 
here  than  Crossmichael." 

In  the  meanwhile  it  began  to  strike  Archie 
as  strange,  that  while  she  thus  sang  the  praises 
of  her  kinsfolk,  and  manifestly  relished  their 
virtues  and  (I  may  say)  their  vices  like  a 
thing  creditable  to  herself,  there  should  ap- 
pear not  the  least  sign  of  cordiality  between 
the  house  of  Hermiston  and  that  of  Cauld- 
staneslap.  Going  to  church  of  a  Sunday,  as 
the  lady  housekeeper  stepped  with  her  skirts 
kilted,  three  tucks  of  her  white  petticoat 
showing  below,  and  her  best  India  shawl  upon 
her  back  (if  the  day  were  fine)  in  a  pattern 
of  radiant  dyes,  she  would  sometimes  over- 
take her  relatives  preceding  her  more  leisurely 
in  the  same  direction.  Gib  of  course  was 


WINTER   ON  THE   MOORS         133 

absent :  by  skriegh  of  day  he  had  been  gone 
to  Crossmichael  and  his  fellow  heretics ;  but 
the  rest  of  the  family  would  be  seen  march- 
ing in  open  order :  Hob  and  Dand,  stiff- 
necked,  straight-backed  six-footers,  with 
severe  dark  faces,  and  their  plaids  about  their 
shoulders ;  the  convoy  of  children  scattering 
(in  a  state  of  high  polish)  on  the  wayside, 
and  every  now  and  again  collected  by  the 
shrill  summons  of  the  mother  ;*  and  the 
mother  herself,  by  a  suggestive  circumstance 
which  might  have  afforded  matter  of  thought 
to  a  more  experienced  observer  than  Archie, 
wrapped  in  a  shawl  nearly  identical  with 
Kirstie's  but  a  thought  more  gaudy  and  con- 
spicuously newer.  At  the  sight,  Kirstie  grew 
more  tall — Kirstie  showed  her  classical  pro- 
file, nose  in  air  and  nostril  spread,  the  pure 
blood  came  in  her  cheek  evenly  in  a  delicate 
living  pink. 

"A  braw  day  to  ye,  Mistress  Elliott," 
said  she,  and  hostility  and  gentility  were 
nicely  mingled  in  her  tones.  "  A  fine  day, 
mem,"  the  laird's  wife  would  reply  with  a 
miraculous  curtsey,  spreading  the  while  her 


134  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

plumage  —  setting  off,  in  other  words,  and 
with  arts  unknown  to  the  mere  man,  the 
pattern  of  her  India  shawl.  Behind  her,  the 
whole  Cauldstaneslap  contingent  marched  in 
closer  order,  and  with  an  indescribable  air  of 
being  in  the  presence  of  the  foe ;  and  while 
Dandie  saluted  his  aunt  with  a  certain  famil- 
iarity as  of  one  who  was  well  in  court,  Hob 
marched  on  in  awful  immobility.  There  ap- 
peared upon  the  face  of  this  attitude  in  the 
family  the  consequences  of  some  dreadful 
feud.  Presumably  the  two  women  had  been 
principals  in  the  original  encounter,  and  the 
laird  had  probably  been  drawn  into  the  quar- 
rel by  the  ears,  too  late  to  be  included  in  the 
present  skin-deep  reconciliation. 

u  Kirstie,"  said  Archie  one  day,  "  what  is 
this  you  have  against  your  family  ?  " 

"  I  dinna  complean,"  said  Kirstie,  with  a 
flush.  "  I  say  naething." 

"  I  see  you  do  not  —  not  even  good  day 
to  your  own  nephew,"  said  he. 

"  I  hae  naething  to  be  ashamed  of,"  said 
she.  "  I  can  say  the  Lord's  prayer  with  a 
good  grace.  If  Hob  was  ill,  or  in  preeson  or 


WINTER   ON  THE   MOORS         135 

poverty,  I  would  see  to  him  blithely.  But 
for  curtchying  and  complimenting  and  col- 
loguing, thank  ye  kindly  !  " 

Archie  had  a  bit  of  a  smile  :  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair.  "  I  think  you  and  Mrs. 
Robert  are  not  very  good  friends,"  says  he 
slyly,  "  when  you  have  your  India  shawls 
on  ?  " 

She  looked  upon  him  in  silence,  with  a 
sparkling  eye  but  an  indecipherable  expres- 
sion ;  and  that  was  all  that  Archie  was  ever 
destined  to  learn  of  the  battle  of  the  India 
shawls. 

"  Do  none  of  them  ever  come  here  to  see 
you  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Mr.  Archie,"  said  she,  "  I  hope  that  I 
ken  my  place  better.  It  would  be  a  queer 
thing,  I  think,  if  I  was  to  clamjamfry  up 
your  faither's  house  .  .  .  that  I  should  say 
it !  —  wi'  a  dirty,  black-a-vised  clan,  no  ane 
o'  them  it  was  worth  while  to  mar  soap  upon 
but  just  mysel'  !  Na,  they're  all  damnifeed 
wi'  the  black  Ellwalds.  I  have  nae  patience 
wi'  black  folk."  Then,  with  a  sudden  con- 
sciousness of  the  case  of  Archie,  "  No  that  it 


136  WEIR   OF  HERMISTON 

maitters  for  men  sae  muckle,"  she  made 
haste  to  add,  "  but  there's  naebody  can  deny 
that  it's  unwomanly.  Long  hair  is  the  orna- 
ment o'  woman  ony  way ;  we've  good  war- 
randise  for  that  —  it's  in  the  Bible  —  and 
wha  can  doubt  that  the  Apostle  had  some 
gowden-haired  lassie  in  his  mind  —  Apostle 
and  all,  for  what  was  he  but  just  a  man  like 
yersel'  ? " 


Chapter  VI 

A  LEAF   FROM    CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK. 

Archie  was  sedulous  at  church.  Sunday 
after  Sunday  he  sat  down  and  stood  up  with 
that  small  company,  heard  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Torrance  leaping  like  an  ill-played  clarionet 
from  key  to  key,  and  had  an  opportunity  to 
study  his  moth-eaten  gown  and  the  black 
thread  mittens  that  he  joined  together  in 
prayer,  and  lifted  up  with  a  reverent  solemnity 
in  the  act  of  benediction.  Hermiston  pew 
was  a  little  square  box,  dwarfish  in  propor- 
tion with  the  kirk  itself,  and  enclosing  a 
table  not  much  bigger  than  a  footstool. 
There  sat  Archie  an  apparent  prince,  the 
only  undeniable  gentleman  and  the  only 
great  heritor  in  the  parish,  taking  his  ease  in 
the  only  pew,  for  no  other  in  the  kirk  had 
doors.  Thence  he  might  command  an  un- 
disturbed view  of  that  congregation  of  solid 
137 


138  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

plaided  men,  strapping  wives  and  daughters, 
oppressed  children,  and  uneasy  sheep-dogs. 
It  was  strange  how  Archie  missed  the  look 
of  race;  except  the  dogs,  with  their  refined 
foxy  faces  and  inimitably  curling  tails,  there 
was  no  one  present  with  the  least  claim  to 
gentility.  The  Cauldstaneslap  party  was 
scarcely  an  exception;  Dandie  perhaps,  as 
he  amused  himself  making  verses  through 
the  interminable  burden  of  the  service,  stood 
out  a  little  by  the  glow  in  his  eye  and  a  cer- 
tain superior  animation  of  face  and  alertness 
of  body;  but  even  Dandie  slouched  like  a 
rustic.  The  rest  of  the  congregation,  like 
so  many  sheep,  oppressed  him  with  a  sense 
of  hob-nailed  routine,  day  following  day  — 
of  physical  labour  in  the  open  air,  oatmeal 
porridge,  peas  bannock,  the  somnolent  fire- 
side in  the  evening,  and  the  night-long  nasal 
slumbers  in  a  box-bed.  Yet  he  knew  many 
of  them  to  be  shrewd  and  humorous,  men  of 
character,  notable  women,  making  a  bustle  in 
the  world  and  radiating  an  influence  from 
their  low-browed  doors.  He  knew  besides 
they  were  like  other  men;  below  the  crust 


CHRISTINA'S  PSALM-BOOK         139 

of  custom,  rapture  found  a  way;  he  had 
heard  them  beat  the  timbrel  before  Bacchus 
— had  heard  them  shout  and  carouse  over 
their  whisky  toddy;  and  not  the  most  Dutch- 
bottomed  and  severe  faces  among  them  all, 
not  even  the  solemn  elders  themselves,  but 
were  capable  of  singular  gambols  at  the 
voice  of  love.  Men  drawing  near  to  an  end 
of  life's  adventurous  journey  —  maids  thrill- 
ing with  fear  and  curiosity  on  the  threshold 
of  entrance — women  who  had  borne  and 
perhaps  buried  children,  who  could  remem- 
ber the  clinging  of  the  small  dead  hands  and 
the  patter  of  the  little  feet  now  silent — he 
marvelled  that  among  all  those  faces  there 
should  be  no  face  of  expectation,  none  that 
was  mobile,  none  into  which  the  rhythm 
and  poetry  of  life  had  entered.  "O  fora 
live  face,"  he  thought;  and  at  times  he  had 
a  memory  of  Lady  Flora;  and  at  times  he 
would  study  the  living  gallery  before  him 
with  despair,  and  would  see  himself  go  on  to 
jwaste  his  days  in  that  joyless,  pastoral  place, 
and  death  come  to  him,  and  his  grave  be  dug 
under  the  rowans,  and  the  Spirit  of  the 


H°  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

Earth    laugh    out    in    a    thunder-peal  at  the 
huge  fiasco. 

On  this  particular  Sunday,  there  was  no 
doubt  but  that  the  spring  had  come  at  last. 
It  was  warm,  with  a  latent  shiver  in  the  air 
that  made  the  warmth  only  the  more  wel- 
come. The  shallows  of  the  stream  glittered 
and  tinkled  among  bunches  of  primrose. 
Vagrant  scents  of  the  earth  arrested  Archie 
by  the  way  with  moments  of  ethereal  intoxi- 
cation. The  grey,  Quakerish  dale  was  still 
only  awakened  in  places  and  patches  from 
the  sobriety  of  its  wintry  colouring ;  and  he 
wondered  at  its  beauty ;  an  essential  beauty 
of  the  old  earth  it  seemed  to  him,  not  resi- 
dent in  particulars  but  breathing  to  him  from 
the  whole.  He  surprised  himself  by  a  sud- 
den impulse  to  write  poetry — he  did  so 
sometimes,  loose,  galloping  octosyllabics  in 
the  vein  of  Scott  —  and  when  he  had  taken 
his  place  on  a  boulder,  near  some  fairy  falls 
and  shaded  by  a  whip  of  a  tree  that  was 
already  radiant  with  new  leaves,  it  still  more 
surprised  him  that  he  should  find  nothing  to 
write.  His  heart  perhaps  beat  in  time  to 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK      141 

some  vast  indwelling  rhythm  of  the  universe. 
By  the  time  he  came  to  a  corner  of  the  val- 
ley and  could  see  the  kirk,  he  had  so  lingered 
by  the  way  that  the  first  psalm  was  finishing. 
The  nasal  psalmody,  full  of  turns  and  trills 
and  graceless  graces,  seemed  the  essential 
voice  of  the  kirk  itself  upraised  in  thanks- 
giving. "  Everything's  alive,"  he  said  ;  and 
again  cries  it  aloud,  "  Thank  God,  every- 
thing's alive  !  "  He  lingered  yet  awhile  in 
the  kirk-yard.  A  tuft  of  primroses  was 
blooming  hard  by  the  leg  of  an  old,  black 
table  tombstone,  and  he  stopped  to  contem- 
plate the  random  apologue.  They  stood  forth 
on  the  cold  earth  with  a  trenchancy  of  con- 
trast; and  he  was  struck  with  a  sense  of 
incompleteness  in  the  day,  the  season,  and 
the  beauty  that  surrounded  him  —  the  chill 
there  was  in  the  warmth,  the  gross  black 
clods  about  the  opening  primroses,  the  damp 
earthy  smell  that  was  everywhere  inter- 
mingled with  the  scents.  The  voice  of  the 
aged  Torrance  within  rose  in  an  ecstasy. 
And  he  wondered  if  Torrance  also  felt  in  his 
old  bones  the  joyous  influence  of  the  spring 


H2  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

morning ;  Torrance,  or  the  shadow  of  what 
once  was  Torrance,  that  must  come  so  soon 
to  lie  outside  here  in  the  sun  and  rain  with 
all  his  rheumatisms,  while  a  new  minister 
stood  in  his  room  and  thundered  from  his 
own  familiar  pulpit  ?  The  pity  of  it,  and 
something  of  the  chill  of  the  grave,  shook 
him  for  a  moment  as  he  made  haste  to  enter. 
He  went  up  the  aisle  reverently  and  took 
his  place  in  the  pew  with  lowered  eyes,  for 
he  feared  he  had  already  offended  the  kind 
old  gentleman  in  the  pulpit,  and  was  sedulous 
to  offend  no  farther.  He  could  not  follow 
the  prayer,  not  even  the  heads  of  it.  Bright- 
nesses of  azure,  clouds  of  fragrance,  a  tinkle 
of  falling  water  and  singing  birds,  rose  like 
exhalations  from  some  deeper,  aboriginal 
memory,  that  was  not  his,  but  belonged  to 
the  flesh  on  his  bones.  His  body  remem- 
bered ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  body 
was  in  no  way  gross,  but  ethereal  and  perish- 
able like  a  strain  of  music ;  and  he  felt  for  it 
an  exquisite  tenderness  as  for  a  child,  an  in- 
nocent, full  of  beautiful  instincts  and  destined 
to  an  early  death.  And  he  felt  for  old  Tor- 


CHRISTINA'S  PSALM-BOOK         143 

ranee  —  of  the  many  supplications,  of  the  few 
days  —  a  pity  that  was  near  to  tears.  The 
prayer  ended.  Right  over  him  was  a  tablet 
in  the  wall,  the  only  ornament  in  the  roughly 
masoned  chapel — for  it  was  no  more ;  the 
tablet  commemorated,  I  was  about  to  say  the 
virtues,  but  rather  the  existence  of  a  former 
Rutherford  of  Hermiston ;  and  Archie,  under 
that  trophy  of  his  long  descent  and  local 
greatness,  leaned  back  in  the  pew  and  con- 
templated vacancy  with  the  shadow  of  a  smile 
between  playful  and  sad,  that  became  him 
strangely.  Dandie's  sister,  sitting  by  the  side 
of  Clem  in  her  new  Glasgow  finery,  chose 
that  moment  to  observe  the  young  laird. 
Aware  of  the  stir  of  his  entrance,  the  little 
formalist  had  kept  her  eyes  fastened  and  her 
face  prettily  composed  during  the  prayer.  It 
was  not  hypocrisy,  there  was  no  one  farther 
from  a  hypocrite.  The  girl  had  been  taught 
to  behave  :  to  look  up,  to  look  down,  to  look 
unconscious,  to  look  seriously  impressed  in 
church,  and  in  every  conjuncture  to  look  her 
best.  That  was  the  game  of  female  life,  and 
she  played  it  frankly.  Archie  was  the  one 


H4  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

person  in  church  who  was  of  interest,  who 
was  somebody  new,  reputed  eccentric,  known 
to  be  young,  and  a  laird,  and  still  unseen  by 
Christina.  Small  wonder  that,  as  she  stood 
there  in  her  attitude  of  pretty  decency,  her 
mind  should  run  upon  him  !  If  he  spared  a 
glance  in  her  direction,  he  should  know  she 
was  a  well-behaved  young  lady  who  had  been 
to  Glasgow.  In  reason  he  must  admire  her 
clothes,  >nd  it  was  possible  that  he  should 
think  her  pretty.  At  that  her  heart  beat  the 
least  thing  in  the  world ;  and  she  proceeded, 
by  way  of  a  corrective,  to  call  up  and  dismiss 
a  series  of  fancied  pictures  of  the  young  man 
who  should  now,  by  rights,  be  looking  at  her. 
She  settled  on  the  plainest  of  them,  a  pink 
short  young  man  with  a  dish  face  and  no 
figure,  at  whose  admiration  she  could  afford 
to  smile ;  but  for  all  that,  the  consciousness 
of  his  gaze  (which  was  really  fixed  on  Tor- 
ranee  and  his  mittens)  kept  her  in  something 
of  a  flutter  till  the  word  Amen.  Even  then, 
she  was  far  too  well-bred  to  gratify  her  curi- 
osity with  any  impatience.  She  resumed  her 
seat  languidly — this  was  a  Glasgow  touch — 


CHRISTINA'S  PSALM-BOOK         H5 

she  composed  her  dress,  rearranged  her  nose- 
gay of  primroses,  looked  first  in  front,  then 
behind  upon  the  other  side,  and  at  last  allowed 
her  eyes  to  move,  without  hurry,  in  the 
direction  of  the  Hermiston  pew.  For  a 
moment,  they  were  riveted.  Next  she  had 
plucked  her  gaze  home  again  like  a  tame  bird 
who  should  have  meditated  flight.  Possibili- 
ties crowded  on  her ;  she  hung  over  the  future 
and  grew  dizzy ;  the  image  of  this  young 
man,  slim,  graceful,  dark,  with  the  inscruta- 
ble half-smile,  attracted  and  repelled  her  like 
a  chasm.  "  I  wonder,  will  I  have  met  my 
fate  ?  "  she  thought,  and  her  heart  swelled. 

Torrance  was  got  some  way  into  his  first 
exposition,  positing  a  deep  layer  of  texts  as 
he  went  along,  laying  the  foundations  of  his 
discourse,  which  was  to  deal  with  a  nice 
point  in  divinity,  before  Archie  suffered  his 
eyes  to  wander.  They  fell  first  of  all  on 
Clem,  looking  insupportably  prosperous  and 
patronising  Torrance  with  the  favour  of  a 
modified  attention,  as  of  one  who  was  used 
to  better  things  in  Glasgow.  Though  he 
had  never  before  set  eyes  on  him,  Archie 


146  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

had  no  difficulty  in  identifying  him,  and  no 
hesitation  in  pronouncing  him  vulgar,  the 
worst  of  the  family.  Clem  was  leaning 
lazily  forward  when  Archie  first  saw  him. 
Presently  he  leaned  nonchalantly  back;  and 
that  deadly  instrument,  the  maiden,  was  sud- 
denly unmasked  in  profile.  Though  not 
quite  in  the  front  of  the  fashion  (had  any- 
body cared !),  certain  artful  Glasgow  mantua- 
makers,  and  her  own  inherent  taste,  had  ar- 
rayed her  to  great  advantage.  Her  accoutre- 
ment was,  indeed,  a  cause  of  heart-burning, 
and  almost  of  scandal,  in  that  infinitesimal 
kirk  company.  Mrs.  Hob  had  said  her  say 
at  Cauldstaneslap.  "  Daft-like ! "  she  had 
pronounced  it.  "  A  jaiket  that  '11  no  meet ! 
Whaur  's  the  sense  of  a  jaiket  that  '11  no  but- 
ton upon  you,  if  it  should  come  to  be  weet? 
What  do  ye  ca'  thir  things?  Demmy  bro- 
kens,  d'  ye  say  ?  They  '11  be  brokens  wi'  a 
vengeance  or  ye  can  win  back !  Weel,  I 
have  naething  to  do  wi'  it  —  it 's  no  good 
taste."  Clem,  whose  purse  had  thus  meta- 
morphosed his  sister,  and  who  was  not 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         147 

insensible  to  the  advertisement,  had  come  to 
the  rescue  with  a  "  Hoot,  woman !  What 
do  you  ken  of  good  taste  that  has  never  been 
to  the  ceety  ? "  And  Hob,  looking  on  the 
girl  with  pleased  smiles,  as  she  timidly  dis- 
played her  finery  in  the  midst  of  the  dark 
kitchen,  had  thus  ended  the  dispute:  "The 
cutty  looks  weel,"  he  had  said,  "and  it's  no 
very  like  rain.  Wear  them  the  day,  hizzie; 
but  it 's  no  a  thing  to  make  a  practice  o'." 
In  the  breasts  of  her  rivals,  coming  to  the 
kirk  very  conscious  of  white  under-linen, 
and  their  faces  splendid  with  much  soap,  the 
sight  of  the  toilet  had  raised  a  storm  of  vary- 
ing emotion,  from  the  mere  unenvious  ad- 
miration that  was  expressed  in  a  long-drawn 
"Eh!"  to  the  angrier  feeling  that  found  vent 
in  an  emphatic  "  Set  her  up !  "  Her  frock 
was  of  straw-coloured  jaconet  muslin,  cut 
low  at  the  bosom  and  short  at  the  ankle,  so 
as  to  display  her  demi-broquins  of  Regency 
violet,  crossing  with  many  straps  upon  a 
yellow  cobweb  stocking.  According  to  the 
pretty  fashion  in  which  our  grandmothers  did 
not  hesitate  to  appear,  and  our  great-aunts 


148  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

went  forth  armed  for  the  pursuit  and  capture 
of  our  great-uncles,  the  dress  was  drawn  up 
so  as  to  mould  the  contour  of  both  breasts, 
and  in  the  nook  between  a  cairngorm  brooch 
maintained  it.  Here,  too,  surely  in  a  very 
enviable  position,  trembled  the  nosegay  of 
primroses.  She  wore  on  her  shoulders — or 
rather,  on  her  back  and  not  her  shoulders, 
which  it  scarcely  passed — a  French  coat  of 
sarsenet,  tied  in  front  with  Margate  braces, 
and  of  the  same  colour  with  her  violet  shoes. 
About  her  face  clustered  a  disorder  of  dark 
ringlets,  a  little  garland  of  yellow  French 
roses  surmounted  her  brow,  and  the  whole 
was  crowned  by  a  village  hat  of  chipped 
straw.  Amongst  all  the  rosy  and  all  the 
weathered  faces  that  surrounded  her  in 
church,  she  glowed  like  an  open  flower — 
girl  and  raiment,  and  the  cairngorm  that 
caught  the  daylight  and  returned  it  in  a  fiery 
flash,  and  the  threads  of  bronze  and  gold 
that  played  in  her  hair. 

Archie  was  attracted  by  the  bright  thing 
like  a  child.  He  looked  at  her  again  and  yet 
again,  and  their  looks  crossed.  The  lip  was 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         149 

lifted  from  her  little  teeth.  He  saw  the  red 
blood  work  vividly  under  her  tawny  skin. 
Her  eye,  which  was  great  as  a  stag's,  struck 
and  held  his  gaze.  He  knew  who  she  must 
be  —  Kirstie,  she  of  the  harsh  diminutive,  his 
housekeeper's  niece,  the  sister  of  the  rustic 
prophet,  Gib  —  and  he  found  in  her  the  an- 
swer to  his  wishes. 

Christina  felt  the  shock  of  their  encounter- 
ing glances,  and  seemed  to  rise,  clothed  in 
smiles,  into  a  region  of  the  vague  and  bright. 
But  the  gratification  was  not  more  exquisite 
than  it  was  brief.  She  looked  away  abruptly, 
and  immediately  began  to  blame  herself  for 
that  abruptness.  She  knew  what  she  should 
have  done,  too  late  —  turned  slowly  with  her 
nose  in  the  air.  And  meantime  his  look  was 
not  removed,  but  continued  to  play  upon  her 
like  a  battery  of  cannon  constantly  aimed, 
and  now  seemed  to  isolate  her  alone  with 
him,  and  now  seemed  to  uplift  her,  as  on  a 
pillory,  before  the  congregation.  For  Archie 
continued  to  drink  her  in  with  his  eyes,  even 
as  a  wayfarer  comes  to  a  well-head  on  a 
mountain,  and  stoops  his  face,  and  drinks 


150  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

with  thirst  unassuageable.  In  the  cleft  of  her 
little  breasts  the  fiery  eye  of  the  topaz  and 
the  pale  florets  of  primrose  fascinated  him. 
He  saw  the  breasts  heave,  and  the  flowers  shake 
with  the  heaving,  and  marvelled  what  should 
so  much  discompose  the  girl.  And  Christina 
was  conscious  of  his  gaze  —  saw  it,  perhaps, 
with  the  dainty  plaything  of  an  ear  that 
peeped  among  her  ringlets  ;  she  was  conscious 
of  changing  colour,  conscious  of  her  unsteady 
breath.  Like  a  creature  tracked,  run  down, 
surrounded,  she  sought  in  a  dozen  ways  to 
give  herself  a  countenance.  She  used  her 
handkerchief — it  was  a  really  fine  one  — 
then  she  desisted  in  a  panic  :  "  He  would 
only  think  I  was  too  warm."  She  took  to 
reading  in  the  metrical  psalms,  and  then  re- 
membered it  was  sermon-time.  Last  she  put 
a  "  sugar-bool  "  in  her  mouth,  and  the  next 
moment  repented  of  the  step.  It  was  such 
a  homely-like  thing  !  Mr.  Archie  would  never 
be  eating  sweeties  in  kirk ;  and,  with  a  pal- 
pable effort,  she  swallowed  it  whole,  and  her 
color  flamed  high.  At  this  signal  of  distress 
Archie  awoke  to  a  sense  of  his  ill-behaviour. 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         151 

What  had  he  been  doing  ?  He  had  been  ex- 
quisitely rude  in  church  to  the  niece  of  his 
housekeeper ;  he  had  stared  like  a  lackey  and 
a  libertine  at  a  beautiful  and  modest  girl.  It 
was  possible,  it  was  even  likely,  he  would 
be  presented  to  her  after  service  in  the  kirk- 
yard,  and  then  how  was  he  to  look  ?  And 
there  was  no  excuse.  He  had  marked  the 
tokens  of  her  shame,  of  her  increasing  indig- 
nation, and  he  was  such  a  fool  that  he  had 
not  understood  them.  Shame  bowed  him 
down,  and  he  looked  resolutely  at  Mr. 
Torrance  ;  who  little  supposed,  good,  worthy 
man,  as  he  continued  to  expound  justification 
by  faith,  what  was  his  true  business  :  to  play 
the  part  of  derivative  to  a  pair  of  children  at 
the  old  game  of  falling  in  love. 

Christina  was  greatly  relieved  at  first.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  was  clothed  again. 
She  looked  back  on  what  had  passed.  All 
would  have  been  right  if  she  had  not  blushed, 
a  silly  fool !  There  was  nothing  to  blush  at, 
.  if  she  bad  taken  a  sugar-bool.  Mrs.  Mac- 
Taggart,  the  elder's  wife  in  St.  Enoch's, 
took  them  often.  And  if  he  had  looked  at 


I52  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

her,  what  was  more  natural  than  that  a  young 
gentleman  should  look  at  the  best  dressed 
girl  in  church  ?  And  at  the  same  time,  she 
knew  far  otherwise,  she  knew  there  was 
nothing  casual  or  ordinary  in  the  look,  and 
valued  herself  on  its  memory  like  a  decora- 
tion. Well,  it  was  a  blessing  he  had  found 
something  else  to  look  at !  And  presently 
she  began  to  have  other  thoughts.  It  was 
necessary,  she  fancied,  that  she  should  put 
herself  right  by  a  repetition  of  the  incident, 
better  managed.  If  the  wish  was  father  to 
the  thought,  she  did  not  know  or  she  would  not 
recognise  it.  It  was  simply  as  a  manoeuvre  of 
propriety,  as  something  called  for  to  lessen 
the  significance  of  what  had  gone  before, 
that  she  should  a  second  time  meet  his  eyes, 
and  this  time  without  blushing.  And  at  the 
memory  of  the  blush,  she  blushed  again,  and 
.became  one  general  blush  burning  from  head 
to  foot.  Was  ever  anything  so  indelicate, 
so  forward,  done  by  a  girl  before  ?  And  here 
she  was,  making  an  exhibition  of  herself  be- 
fore the  congregation  about  nothing !  She 
stole  a  glance  upon  her  neighbours,  and  be- 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         153 

hold !  they  were  steadily  indifferent,  and 
Clem  had  gone  to  sleep.  And  still  the  one 
idea  was  becoming  more  and  more  potent 
with  her,  that  in  common  prudence  she  must 
look  again  before  the  service  ended.  Some- 
thing of  the  same  sort  was  going  forward  in 
the  mind  of  Archie,  as  he  struggled  with  the 
load  of  penitence.  So  it  chanced  that,  in  the 
flutter  of  the  moment  when  the  last  psalm 
was  given  out,  and  Torrance  was  reading  the 
verse,  and  the  leaves  of  every  psalm-book  in 
church  were  rustling  under  busy  fingers,  two 
stealthy  glances  were  sent  out  like  antennae 
among  the  pews  and  on  the  indifferent  and 
absorbed  occupants,  and  drew  timidly  nearer 
to  the  straight  line  between  Archie  and 
Christina.  They  met,  they  lingered  together 
for  the  least  fraction  of  time,  and  that  was 
enough.  A  charge  as  of  electricity  passed 
through  Christina,  and  behold  !  the  leaf  of  her 
psalm-book  was  torn  across. 

Archie  was  outside  by  the  gate  of  the 
graveyard,  conversing  with  Hob  and  the 
minister  and  shaking  hands  all  round  with  the 
scattering  congregation,  when  Clem  and 


154  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

Christina  were  brought  up  to  be  presented. 
The  laird  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  to  her 
with  grace  and  respect.  Christina  made  her 
Glasgow  curtsey  to  the  laird,  and  went  on 
again  up  the  road  for  Hermiston  and  Cauld- 
staneslap,  walking  fast,  breathing  hurriedly 
with  a  heightened  colour,  and  in  this  strange 
frame  of  mind,  that  when  she  was  alone  she 
seemed  in  high  happiness,  and  when  anyone 
addressed  her  she  resented  it  like  a  contradic- 
tion. A  part  of  the  way  she  had  the  com- 
pany of  some  neighbour  girls  and  a  loutish 
young  man  ;  never  had  they  seemed  so  in- 
sipid, never  had  she  made  herself  so  disagree- 
able. But  these  struck  aside  to  their  various 
destinations  or  were  out-walked  and  left  be- 
hind ;  and  when  she  had  driven  off  with  sharp 
words  the  proffered  convoy  of  some  of  her 
nephews  and  nieces,  she  was  free  to  go  on 
alone  up  Hermiston  brae,  walking  on  air, 
dwelling  intoxicated  among  clouds  of  happi- 
ness. Near  to  the  summit  she  heard  steps 
behind  her,  a  man's  steps,  light  and  very 
rapid.  She  knew  the  foot  at  once  and  walked 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         155 

the  faster.  "  If  it's  me  he's  wanting  he  can 
run  for  it,"  she  thought,  smiling. 

Archie  overtook  her  like  a  man  whose 
mind  was  made  up. 

"  Miss  Kirstie  "    he  began. 

"  Miss  Christina,  if  you  please,  Mr. Weir," 
she  interrupted.  "  I  canna  bear  the  con- 
traction." 

"  You  forget  it  has  a  friendly  sound  for 
me.  Your  aunt  is  an  old  friend  of  mine  and 
a  very  good  one.  I  hope  we  shall  see  much 
of  you  at  Hermiston  ?  " 

"  My  aunt  and  my  sister-in-law  doesna 
agree  very  well.  Not  that  I  have  much  ado 
with  it.  But  still  when  I'm  stopping  in  the 
house,  if  I  was  to  be  visiting  my  aunt,  it 
would  not  look  considerate-like." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Archie. 

"  I  thank  you  kindly,  Mr.  Weir,"  she  said. 
"  I  whiles  think  myself  it's  a  great  peety." 

"  Ah,  I  am  sure  your  voice  would  always 
be  for  peace  !  "  he  cried. 

"I  wouldna  be  too  sure  of  that,"  she 
said.  "  I  have  my  days  like  other  folk,  I 
suppose." 


I56  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

"  Do  you  know,  in  our  old  kirk,  among 
our  good  old  grey  dames,  you  made  an  effect 
like  sunshine." 

"  Ah,  but  that  would  be  my  Glasgow 
clothes  ! " 

"  I  did  not  think  I  was  so  much  under  the 
influence  of  pretty  frocks." 

She  smiled  with  a  half  look  at  him. 
"  There's  more  than  you  !  "  she  said.  "  But 
you  see  I'm  only  Cinderella.  I'll  have  to 
put  all  these  things  by  in  my  trunk ;  next 
Sunday  I'll  be  as  grey  as  the  rest.  They're 
Glasgow  clothes,  you  see,  and  it  would  never 
do  to  make  a  practice  of  it.  It  would  seem 
terrible  conspicuous." 

By  that  they  were  come  to  the  place 
where  their  ways  severed.  The  old  grey 
moors  were  all  about  them ;  in  the  midst  a 
few  sheep  wandered ;  and  they  could  see  on 
the  one  hand  the  straggling  caravan  scaling 
the  braes  in  front  of  them  for  Cauldstaneslap, 
and  on  the  other,  the  contingent  from  Her- 
miston  bending  off  and  beginning  to  disap- 
pear by  detachments  into  the  policy  gate.  It 
was  in  these  circumstances  that  they  turned 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         157 

to  say  farewell,  and  deliberately  exchanged  a 
glance  as  they  shook  hands.  All  passed  as 
it  should,  genteelly  ;  and  in  Christina's  mind, 
as  she  mounted  the  first  steep  ascent  for 
Cauldstaneslap,  a  gratifying  sense  of  triumph 
prevailed  over  the  recollection  of  minor 
lapses  and  mistakes.  She  had  kilted  her 
gown,  as  she  did  usually  at  that  rugged  pass ; 
but  when  she  spied  Archie  still  standing  and 
gazing  after  her,  the  skirts  came  down  again 
as  if  by  enchantment.  Here  was  a  piece  of 
nicety  for  that  upland  parish,  where  the 
matrons  marched  with  their  coats  kilted  in 
the  rain,  and  the  lasses  walked  barefoot  to 
kirk  through  the  dust  of  summer,  and  went 
bravely  down  by  the  burnside,  and  sat  on 
stones  to  make  a  public  toilet  before  enter- 
ing !  It  was  perhaps  an  air  wafted  from 
Glasgow ;  or  perhaps  it  marked  a  stage  of 
that  dizziness  of  gratified  vanity,  in  which 
the  instinctive  act  passed  unperceived.  He 
was  looking  after !  She  unloaded  her  bosom 
of  a  prodigious  sigh  that  was  all  pleasure, 
and  betook  herself  to  run.  When  she  had 


158  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

overtaken  the  stragglers  of  her  family,  she 
caught  up  the  niece  whom  she  had  so  re- 
cently repulsed,  and  kissed  and  slapped  her, 
and  drove  her  away  again,  and  ran  after  her 
with  pretty  cries  and  laughter.  Perhaps  she 
thought  the  laird  might  still  be  looking ! 
But  it  chanced  the  little  scene  came  under 
the  view  of  eyes  less  favourable ;  for  she 
overtook  Mrs.  Hob  marching  with  Clem  and 
Dand. 

"  You're  shiirely  fey,1  lass  !  "  quoth 
Dandie. 

"  Think  shame  to  yersel',  miss  !  "  said  the 
strident  Mrs.  Hob.  "  Is  this  the  gait  to 
guide  yersel'  on  the  way  hame  frae  kirk  ? 
You're  shiirely  no  sponsible  the  day  !  And 
anyway  I  would  mind  my  guid  claes." 

"  Hoot !  "  said  Christina,  and  went  on  be- 
fore them  head  in  air,  treading  the  rough 
track  with  the  tread  of  a  wild  doe. 

She  was  in  love  with  herself,  her  destiny, 
the  air  of  the  hills,  the  benediction  of  the 
sun.  All  the  way  home,  she  continued 

'Unlike  yourself,  strange,  as  persons  are  observed  to  be  in 
the  hour  of  approaching  death  or  calamity. 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         159 

under  the  intoxication  of  these  sky-scraping 
spirits.  At  table  she  could  talk  freely  of 
young  Hermiston;  gave  her  opinion  of  him 
off-hand  and  with  a  loud  voice,  that  he  was  a 
handsome  young  gentleman,  real  well  man- 
nered and  sensible-like,  but  it  was  a  pity  he 
looked  doleful.  Only — the  moment  after 
— a  memory  of  his  eyes  in  church  embar- 
rassed her.  But  for  this  inconsiderable  check, 
all  through  meal-time  she  had  a  good  appe- 
tite, and  she  kept  them  laughing  at  table, 
until  Gib  (who  had  returned  before  them 
from  Crossmichael  and  his  separative  worship) 
reproved  the  whole  of  them  for  their  levity. 
Singing  "in  to  herself"  as  she  went,  her 
mind  still  in  the  turmoil  of  glad  confusion, 
she  rose  and  tripped  upstairs  to  a  little  loft, 
lighted  by  four  panes  in  the  gable,  where  she 
slept  with  one  of  her  nieces.  The  niece, 
who  followed  her,  presuming  on  "Auntie's" 
high  spirits,  was  flounced  out  of  the  apart- 
ment with  small  ceremony,  and  retired, 
smarting  and  half-tearful,  to  bury  her  woes 
in  the  byre  among  the  hay.  Still  humming, 
Christina  divested  herself  of  her  finery,  and 


160  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

put  her  treasures  one  by  one  in  her  great 
green  trunk.  The  last  of  these  was  the 
psalm-book;  it  was  a  fine  piece,  the  gift  of 
Mistress  Clem,  in  distinct  old-faced  type,  on 
paper  that  had  begun  to  grow  foxy  in  the 
warehouse — not  by  service — and  she  was  used 
to  wrap  it  in  a  handkerchief  every  Sunday 
after  its  period  of  service  was  over,  and  bury 
it  end-wise  at  the  head  of  her  trunk.  As 
she  now  took  it  in  hand  the  book  fell  open 
where  the  leaf  was  torn,  and  she  stood  and 
gazed  upon  that  evidence  of  her  bygone  dis- 
composure. There  returned  again  the  vision 
of  the  two  brown  eyes  staring  at  her,  intent 
and  bright,  out  of  that  dark  corner  of  the 
kirk.  The  whole  appearance  and  attitude, 
the  smile,  the  suggested  gesture  of  young 
Hermiston  came  before  her  in  a  flash  at 
the  sight  of  the  torn  page.  "I  was  surely 
fey!"  she  said,  echoing  the  words  of  Dandie, 
and  at  the  suggested  doom  her  high  spirits 
deserted  her.  She  flung  herself  prone  upon 
the  bed,  and  lay  there,  holding  the  psalm- 
book  in  her  hands  for  hours,  for  the  more 
part  in  a  mere  stupor  of  unconsenting  pleas- 


CHRISTINA'S  PSALM-BOOK         161 

ure  and  unreasoning  fear.  The  fear  was 
superstitious ;  there  came  up  again  and  again 
in  her  memory  Dandie's  ill-omened  words, 
and  a  hundred  grisly  and  black  tales  out  of 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  read  her  a 
commentary  on  their  force.  The  pleasure 
was  never  realised.  You  might  say  the 
joints  of  her  bo.dy  thought  and  remembered, 
and  were  gladdened,  but  her  essential  self,  in 
the  immediate  theatre  of  consciousness,  talked 
feverishly  of  something  else,  like  a  nervous 
person  at  a  fire.  The  image  that  she  most 
complacently  dwelt  on  was  that  of  Miss 
Christina  in  her  character  of  the  Fair  Lass  of 
Cauldstaneslap,  carrying  all  before  her  in  the 
straw-coloured  frock,  the  violet  mantle,  and 
the  yellow  cobweb  stockings.  Archie's  im- 
age, on  the  other  hand,  when  it  presented 
itself  was  never  welcomed  —  far  less  wel- 
comed with  any  ardour,  and  it  was  exposed 
at  times  to  merciless  criticism.  In  the  long, 
vague  dialogues  she  held  in  her  mind,  often 
with  imaginary,  often  with  unrealised  inter- 
locutors, Archie,  if  he  were  referred  to  at 
all,  came  in  for  savage  handling.  He  was 


162  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

described  as  "looking  like  a  stork,"  "staring 
like  a  caulf,"  "a  face  like  a  ghaist's."  "Do 
you  call  that  manners  ? "  she  said ;  or,  "  I 
soon  put  him  in  his  place."  "'•Miss  Chris- 
tina, if  you  please,  Mr.  Weir !'  says  I,  and 
just  flyped  up  my  skirt  tails."  With  gabble 
like  this  she  would  entertain  herself  long 
whiles  together,  and  then  her  eye  would  per- 
haps fall  on  the  torn  leaf,  and  the  eyes  of 
Archie  would  appear  again  from  the  dark- 
ness of  the  wall,  and  the  voluble  words  de- 
serted her,  and  she  would  lie  still  and  stupid, 
and  think  upon  nothing  with  devotion,  and  be 
sometimes  raised  by  a  quiet  sigh.  Had  a 
doctor  of  medicine  come  into  that  loft,  he 
would  have  diagnosed  a  healthy,  well-devel- 
oped, eminently  vivacious  lass  lying  on  her 
face  in  a  fit  of  the  sulks;  not  one  who  had 
just  contracted,  or  was  just  contracting,  a 
mortal  sickness  of  the  mind  which  should 
yet  carry  her  towards  death  and  despair. 
Had  it  been  a  doctor  of  psychology,  he  might 
have  been  pardoned  for  divining  in  the  girl  a 
passion  of  childish  vanity,  self-love  in  excelsis, 
and  no  more.  It  is  to  be  understood  that  I 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         163 

have  been  painting  chaos  and  describing  the 
inarticulate.  Every  lineament  that  appears 
is  too  precise,  almost  every  word  used  too 
strong.  Take  a  finger-post  in  the  mountains 
on  a  day  of  rolling  mists ;  I  have  but  copied 
the  names  that  appear  upon  the  pointers,  the 
names  of  definite  and  famous  cities  far  dis- 
tant, and  now  perhaps  basking  in  sunshine; 
but  Christina  remained  all  these  hours,  as  it 
were,  at  the  foot  of  the  post  itself,  not  mov- 
ing, and  enveloped  in  mutable  and  blinding 
wreaths  of  haze. 

The  day  was  growing  late  and  the  sun- 
beams long  and  level,  when  she  sat  suddenly 
up,  and  wrapped  in  its  handkerchief  and  put 
by  that  psalm-book  which  had  already  played 
a  part  so  decisive  in  the  first  chapter  of  her 
love-story.  In  the  absence  of  the  mesmer- 
ist's eye,  we  are  told  nowadays  that  the  head 
of  a  bright  nail  may  fill  his  place,  if  it  be 
steadfastly  regarded.  So  that  torn  page  had 
riveted  her  attention  on  what  might  else  have 
been  but  little,  and  perhaps  soon  forgotten ; 
while  the  ominous  words  of  Dandie  —  heard, 
not  heeded,  and  still  remembered  —  had  lent 


164  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

to  her  thoughts,  or  rather  to  her  mood,  a  cast 
of  solemnity,  and  that  idea  of  Fate  —  a  pagan 
Fate,  uncontrolled  by  any  Christian  deity, 
obscure,  lawless,  and  august  —  moving  in- 
dissuadably  in  the  affairs  of  Christian  men. 
Thus  even  that  phenomenon  of  love  at  first 
sight,  which  is  so  rare  and  seems  so  simple 
and  violent,  like  a  disruption  of  life's  tissue, 
may  be  decomposed  into  a  sequence  of  acci- 
dents happily  concurring. 

She  put  on  a  grey  frock  and  a  pink  ker- 
chief, looked  at  herself  a  moment  with  ap- 
proval in  the  small  square  of  glass  that  served 
her  for  a  toilet  mirror,  and  went  softly  down- 
stairs through  the  sleeping  house  that  re- 
sounded with  the  sound  of  afternoon  snoring. 
Just  outside  the  door  Dandie  was  sitting  with 
a  book  in  his  hand,  not  reading,  only  honour- 
ing the  Sabbath  by  a  sacred  vacancy  of  mind. 
She  came  near  him  and  stood  still. 

"  I'm  for  off  up  the  muirs,  Dandie,"  she  said. 

There  was  something  unusually  soft  in 
her  tones  that  made  him  look  up.  She  was 
pale,  her  eyes  dark  and  bright ;  no  trace  re- 
mained of  the  levity  of  the  morning. 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         165 

"  Ay,  lass  ?  Ye'll  have  ye're  ups  and 
downs  like  me,  I'm  thinkin',"  he  observed. 

"  What  for  do  ye  say  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"  O,  for  naething,"  says  Dand.  "  Only  I 
think  ye're  mair  like  me  than  the  lave  of 
them.  Ye've  mair  of  the  poetic  temper, 
tho'  Guid  kens  little  enough  of  the  poetic 
taalent.  It's  an  ill  gift  at  the  best.  Look 
at  yoursel'.  At  denner  you  were  all  sun- 
shine and  flowers  and  laughter,  and  now 
you're  like  the  star  of  evening  on  a  lake." 

She  drank  in  this  hackneyed  compliment 
like  wine,  and  it  glowed  in  her  veins. 

"  But  I'm  saying,  Dand  " —  she  came 
nearer  him  — "  I'm  for  the  muirs.  I  must 
have  a  braith  of  air.  If  Clem  was  to  be 
speiring  for  me,  try  and  quaiet  him,  will  ye 
no  ?  " 

"  What  way  ?  "  said  Dandie.  "  I  ken 
but  the  ae  way,  and  that's  leein'.  I'll  say  ye 
had  a  sair  heed,  if  ye  like." 

"  But  I  havena,"  she  objected. 

"  I  daur  say  not,"  he  returned.  "  I  said 
I  would  say  ye  had  ;  and  if  ye  like  to  nay-say 


166  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

me  when  ye  come  back,  it'll  no  mateerially 
maitter,  for  my  chara'ter's  clean  gane  a'ready 
past  reca'." 

"  O,  Dand.  are  ye  a  leear  ?  "  she  asked, 
lingering. 

"Folks  say  sae,"  replied  the  bard. 

"  Wha  says  sae  ?  "  she  pursued. 

"  Them  that  should  ken  the  best,"  he  re- 
sponded. "  The  lassies,  for  ane." 

"  But,  Dand,  you  would  never  lee  to  me?" 
she  asked. 

"  I'll  leave  that  for  your  pairt  of  it,  ye 
girzie,"  said  he.  "  Ye'll  lee  to  me  fast 
eneuch,  when  ye  hae  gotten  a  jo.  I'm  tellin' 
ye  and  it's  true ;  when  you  have  a  jo,  Miss 
Kirstie,  it'll  be  for  guid  and  ill.  I  ken :  I 
was  made  that  way  myseP,  but  the  deil  was 
in  my  luck  !  Here,  gang  awa  wi'  ye  to  your 
muirs,  and  let  me  be ;  I'm  in  an  hour  of  in- 
spiraution,  ye  upsetting  tawpie  !" 

But  she  clung  to  her  brother's  neighbour- 
hood, she  knew  not  why. 

"  Will  ye  no  gie's  a  kiss,  Dand  ? "  she 
said.  "  I  aye  likit  ye  fine." 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         167 

He  kissed  her  and  considered  her  a  moment; 
he  found  something  strange  in  her.  But  he 
was  a  libertine  through  and  through,  nour- 
ished equal  contempt  and  suspicion  of  all 
womankind,  and  paid  his  way  among  them 
habitually  with  idle  compliments. 

"  Gae  wa'  wi'  ye  !  "  said  he.  "  Ye're  a 
dentie  baby,  and  be  content  wi'  that !  " 

That  was  Dandie's  way  ;  a  kiss  and  a  com- 
fit to  Jenny — a  bawbee  and  my  blessing  to 
Jill — and  good  night  to  the  whole  clan  of  ye, 
my  dears  !  When  anything  approached  the 
serious,  it  became  a  matter  for  men,  he  both 
thought  and  said.  Women,  when  they  did 
not  absorb,  were  only  children  to  be  shoo'd 
away.  Merely  in  his  character  of  connois- 
seur, however,  Dandie  glanced  carelessly  after 
his  sister  as  she  crossed  the  meadow.  "The 
brat's  no  that  bad  !  "  he  thought  with  sur- 
prise, for  though  he  had  just  been  paying  her 
compliments,  he  had  not  really  looked  at  her. 
"  Hey  !  what's  yon  ?  "  For  the  grey  dress 
was  cut  with  short  sleeves  and  skirts,  and 
displayed  her  trim  strong  legs  clad  in  pink 
stockings  of  the  same  shade  as  the  kerchief 


i68  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

she  wore  round  her  shoulders,  and  that  shim- 
mered as  she  went.  This  was  not  her  way  in 
undress ;  he  knew  her  ways  and  the  ways  of 
the  whole  sex  in  the  country-side,  no  one 
better ;  when  they  did  not  go  barefoot,  they 
wore  stout  "  rig  and  furrow  "  woollen  hose 
of  an  invisible  blue  mostly,  when  they  were 
not  black  outright ;  and  Dandie,  at  sight  of 
this  daintiness,  put  two  and  two  together.  It 
was  a  silk  handkerchief,  then  they  would  be 
silken  hose ;  they  matched — then  the  whole 
outfit  was  a  present  of  Clem's,  a  costly  pre- 
sent, and  not  something  to  be  worn  through 
bog  and  briar,  or  on  a  late  afternoon  of  Sun- 
day. He  whistled.  "My  denty  May,  either 
your  heid's  fair  turned,  or  there's  some  on- 
goings !"  he  observed,  and  dismissed  the  sub- 
ject. 

She  went  slowly  at  first,  but  ever  straighter 
and  faster  for  the  Cauldstaneslap,  a  pass 
among  the  hills  to  which  the  farm  owed  its 
name.  The  Slap  opened  like  a  doorway  be- 
tween two  rounded  hillocks ;  and  through 
this  ran  the  short  cut  to  Hermiston.  Im- 
mediately on  the  other  side  it  went  down 


CHRISTINA'S  PSALM-BOOK         169 

through  the  Deil's  Hags,  a  considerable 
marshy  hollow  of  the  hill-tops,  full  of  springs, 
and  crouching  junipers,  and  pools  where  the 
black  peat-water  slumbered.  There  was  no 
view  from  here.  A  man  might  have  sat  upon 
the  Praying  Weaver's  stone  a  half-century, 
and  seen  none  but  the  Cauldstaneslap  children 
twice  in  the  twenty-four  hours  on  their  way 
to  the  school  and  back  again,  an  occasional 
shepherd,  the  irruption  of  a  clan  of  sheep, 
or  the  birds  who  haunted  about  the  springs, 
drinking  and  shrilly  piping.  So,  when  she 
had  once  passed  the  Slap,  Kirstie  was  received 
into  seclusion.  She  looked  back  a  last  time 
at  the  farm.  It  still  lay  deserted  except  for 
the  figure  of  Dandie,  who  was  now  seen  to 
be  scribbling  in  his  lap,  the  hour  of  expected 
inspiration  having  come  to  him  at  last.  Thence 
she  passed  rapidly  through  the  morass,  and 
came  to  the  further  end  of  it,  where  a  slug- 
gish burn  discharges,  and  the  path  for  Her- 
miston  accompanies  it  on  the  beginning  of  its 
downward  path.  From  this  corner  a  wide 
view  was  opened  to  her  of  the  whole  stretch 
of  braes  upon  the  other  side,  still  sallow  and 


17°  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

in  places  rusty  with  the  winter,  with  the  path 
marked  boldly,  here  and  there  by  the  burn- 
side  a  tuft  of  birches,  and — three  miles  off 
as  the  crow  flies — from  its  enclosures  and 
young  plantations,  the  windows  of  Hermiston 
glittering  in  the  western  sun. 

Here  she  sat  down  and  waited,  and  looked 
for  a  long  time  at  these  far-away  bright  panes 
of  glass.  It  amused  her  to  have  so  extended 
a  view,  she  thought.  It  amused  her  to  see 
the  house  of  Hermiston  —  to  see  "folk"; 
and  there  was  an  indistinguishable  human 
unit,  perhaps  the  gardener,  visibly  sauntering 
on  the  gravel  paths. 

By  the  time  the  sun  was  down  and  all  the 
easterly  braes  lay  plunged  in  clear  shadow, 
she  was  aware  of  another  figure  coming  up 
the  path  at  a  most  unequal  rate  of  approach, 
now  half-running,  now  pausing  and  seeming 
to  hesitate.  She  watched  him  at  first  with 
a  total  suspension  of  thought.  She  held  her 
thought  as  a  person  holds  his  breathing. 
Then  she  consented  to  recognize  him. 
"  He'll  no  be  coming  here,  he  canna  be ;  it's 
no  possible."  And  there  began  to  grow 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         171 

upon  her  a  subdued  choking  suspense.  He 
was  coming ;  his  hesitations  had  quite  ceased, 
his  step  grew  firm  and  swift ;  no  doubt  re- 
mained ;  and  the  question  loomed  up  before 
her  instant :  what  was  she  to  do  ?  It  was  all 
very  well  to  say  that  her  brother  was  a  laird 
himself;  it  was  all  very  well  to  speak  of 
casual  intermarriages  and  to  count  cousinship, 
like  Auntie  Kirstie.  The  difference  in  their 
social  station  was  trenchant ;  propriety,  pru- 
dence, all  that  she  had  ever  learned,  all  that 
she  knew,  bade  her  flee.  But  on  the  other 
hand  the  cup  of  life  now  offered  to  her  was 
too  enchanting.  For  one  moment,  she  saw 
the  question  clearly,  and  definitely  made  her 
choice.  She  stood  up  and  showed  herself  an 
instant  in  the  gap  relieved  upon  the  sky  line ; 
and  the  next,  fled  trembling  and  sat  down 
glowing  with  excitement  on  the  Weaver's 
stone.  She  shut  her  eyes,  seeking,  praying 
for  composure.  Her  hand  shook  in  her  lap, 
and  her  mind  was  full  of  incongruous  and 
futile  speeches.  What  was  there  to  make  a 
work  about  ?  She  could  take  care  of  herself, 
she  supposed  !  There  was  no  harm  in  see- 


I72  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

ing  the  laird.  It  was  the  best  thing  that 
could  happen.  She  would  mark  a  proper 
distance  to  him  once  and  for  all.  Gradually 
the  wheels  of  her  nature  ceased  to  go  round 
so  madly,  and  she  sat  in  passive  expectation, 
a  quiet,  solitary  figure  in  the  midst  of  the  grey 
moss.  I  have  said  she  was  no  hypocrite,  but 
here  I  am  at  fault.  She  never  admitted  to 
herself  that  she  had  come  up  the  hill  to  look 
for  Archie.  And  perhaps  after  all  she  did 
not  know,  perhaps  came  as  a  stone  falls.  For 
the  steps  of  love  in  the  young,  and  especially 
in  girls,  are  instinctive  and  unconscious. 

In  the  meantime  Archie  was  drawing 
rapidly  near,  and  he  at  least  was  consciously 
seeking  her  neighbourhood.  The  afternoon 
had  turned  to  ashes  in  his  mouth ;  the 
memory  of  the  girl  had  kept  him  from  read- 
ing and  drawn  him  as  with  cords ;  and  at 
last,  as  the  cool  of  the  evening  began  to 
come  on,  he  had  taken  his  hat  and  set  forth, 
with  a  smothered  ejaculation,  by  the  moor 
path  to  Cauldstaneslap.  He  had  no  hope  to 
find  her ;  he  took  the  off  chance  without  ex- 
pectation of  result  and  to  relieve  his  uneasi- 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         173 

ness.  The  greater  was  his  surprise,  as  he 
surmounted  the  slope  and  came  into  the 
hollow  of  the  Deil's  Hags,  to  see  there,  like 
an  answer  to  his  wishes,  the  little  womanly 
figure  in  the  grey  dress  and  the  pink  kerchief 
sitting  little,  and  low,  and  lost,  and  acutely 
solitary,  in  these  desolate  surroundings  and 
on  the  weather-beaten  stone  of  the  dead 
weaver.  Those  things  that  still  smacked  of 
winter  were  all  rusty  about  her,  and  those 
things  that  already  relished  of  the  spring  had 
put  forth  the  tender  and  lively  colours  of  the 
season.  Even  in  the  unchanging  face  of  the 
death-stone  changes  were  to  be  remarked ; 
and  in  the  channeled-lettering,  the  moss  be- 
gan to  renew  itself  in  jewels  of  green.  By 
an  after-thought  that  was  a  stroke  of  art,  she 
had  turned  up  over  her  head  the  back  of  the 
kerchief;  so  that  it  now  framed  becomingly 
her  vivacious  and  yet  pensive  face.  Her 
feet  were  gathered  under  her  on  the  one  side, 
and  she  leaned  on  her  bare  arm,  which 
showed  out  strong  and  round,  tapered  to  a 
slim  wrist,  and  shimmered  in  the  fading 
light. 


174  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

Young  Hermiston  was  struck  with  a  cer- 
tain chill.  He  was  reminded  that  he  now 
dealt  in  serious  matters  of  life  and  death. 
This  was  a  grown  woman  he  was  approach- 
ing, endowed  with  her  mysterious  potencies 
and  attractions,  the  treasury  of  the  continued 
race,  and  he  was  neither  better  nor  worse 
than  the  average  of  his  sex  and  age.  He  had 
a  certain  delicacy  which  had  preserved  him 
hitherto  unspotted,  and  which  (had  either  of 
them  guessed  it)  made  him  a  more  dangerous 
companion  when  his  heart  should  be  really 
stirred.  His  throat  was  dry  as  he  came 
near ;  but  the  appealing  sweetness  of  her 
smile  stood  between  them  like  a  guardian 
angel. 

For  she  turned  to  him  and  smiled,  though 
without  rising.  There  was  a  shade  in  this 
cavalier  greeting  that  neither  of  them  per- 
ceived ;  neither  he,  who  simply  thought  it 
gracious  and  charming  as  herself;  nor  yet 
she,  who  did  not  observe  (quick  as  she  was) 
the  difference  between  rising  to  meet  the 
laird  and  remaining  seated  to  receive  the  ex- 
pected admirer. 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         175 

"  Are  ye  stepping  west,  Hermiston  ?"  said 
she,  giving  him  his  territorial  name  after  the 
fashion  of  the  country-side. 

"  I  was,"  said  he  a  little  hoarsely,  "  but  I 
think  I  will  be  about  the  end  of  my  stroll 
now.  Are  you  like  me,  Miss  Christina  ?  the 
house  would  not  hold  me.  I  came  here 
seeking  air." 

He  took  his  seat  at  the  other  end  of  the 
tombstone  and  studied  her,  wondering  what 
was  she.  There  was  infinite  import  in  the 
question  alike  for  her  and  him. 

"  Ay,"  she  said.  "  I  couldna  bear  the 
roof  either.  It 's  a  habit  of  mine  to  come 
up  here  about  the  gloaming  when  it's  quaiet 
and  caller." 

"  It  was  a  habit  of  my  mother's  also,"  he 
said  gravely.  The  recollection  half-startled 
him  as  he  expressed  it.  He  looked  around. 
"  I  have  scarce  been  here  since.  It's  peace- 
ful," he  said,  with  a  long  breath. 

"  It's  no  like  Glasgow,"  she  replied.  "  A 
weary  place,  yon  Glasgow  !  But  what  a  day 
have  I  had  for  my  hame-coming,  and  what  a 
bonny  evening ! " 


I76  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

"  Indeed,  it  was  a  wonderful  day,"  said 
Archie.  "  I  think  I  will  remember  it  years 
and  years  until  I  come  to  die.  On  days  like 
this  —  I  do  not  know  if  you  feel  as  I  do  — 
but  everything  appears  so  brief,  and  fragile, 
and  exquisite,  that  I  am  afraid  to  touch  life. 
We  are  here  for  so  short  a  time ;  and  all  the 
old  people  before  us  —  Rutherfords  of  Herm- 
iston,  Elliotts  of  the  Cauldstaneslap  —  that 
were  here  but  a  while  since,  riding  about  and 
keeping  up  a  great  noise  in  this  quiet  corner 
—  making  love  too,  and  marrying  —  why, 
where  are  they  now  ?  It's  deadly  common- 
place, but  after  all,  the  commonplaces  are  the 
great  poetic  truths." 

He  was  sounding  her,  semi-consciously, 
to  see  if  she  could  understand  him  ;  to  learn 
if  she  were  only  an  animal  the  colour  of 
flowers,  or  had  a  soul  in  her  to  keep  her 
sweet.  She,  on  her  part,  her  means  well  in 
hand,  watched,  womanlike,  for  any  oppor- 
tunity to  shine,  to  abound  in  his  humour, 
whatever  that  might  be.  The  dramatic 
artist,  that  lies  dormant  or  only  half-awake  in 
most  human  beings,  had  in  her  sprung  to  his 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         177 

feet  in  a  divine  fury,  and  chance  had  served 
her  well.  She  looked  upon  him  with  a  sub- 
dued twilight  look  that  became  the  hour  of 
the  day  and  the  train  of  thought ;  earnestness 
shone  through  her  like  stars  in  the  purple 
west;  and  from  the  great  but  controlled  up- 
heaval of  her  whole  nature  there  passed  into 
her  voice,  and  rang  in  her  lightest  words,  a 
thrill  of  emotion. 

"  Have  you  mind  of  Dand's  song  ? "  she 
answered.  "  I  think  he'll  have  been  trying 
to  say  what  you  have  been  thinking." 

"  No,  I  never  heard  it,"  he  said.  "  Repeat 
it  to  me,  can  you  ?  " 

"  It's  nothing  wanting  the  tune,"  said 
Kirstie. 

"  Then  sing  it  me,"  said  he. 

"  On  the  Lord's  Day  ?  That  would  never 
do,  Mr.  Weir  !  " 

u  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  so  strict  a  keeper 
of  the  Sabbath,  and  there  is  ho  one  in  this 
place  to  hear  us,  unless  the  poor  old  ancient 
under  the  stone." 

"  No  that  I'm  thinking  that  really,"  she 
said.  "  By  my  way  of  thinking,  it's  just  as 


178  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

serious  as  a  psalm.  Will  I  sooth  it  to  ye, 
then  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,"  said  he,  and,  drawing 
near  to  her  on  the  tombstone,  prepared  to 
listen. 

She  sat  up  as  if  to  sing.  "  I'll  only  can 
sooth  it  to  ye,"  she  explained.  "  I  wouldna 
like  to  sing  out  loud  on  the  Sabbath.  I  think 
the  birds  would  carry  news  of  it  to  Gilbert," 
and  she  smiled.  "  It's  about  the  Elliotts," 
she  continued,  "  and  I  think  there's  few  bon- 
nier bits  in  the  book-poets,  though  Dand  has 
never  got  printed  yet." 

And  she  began,  in  the  low,  clear  tones  of 
her  half-voice,  now  sinking  almost  to  a 
whisper,  now  rising  to  a  particular  note  which 
was  her  best,  and  which  Archie  learned  to 
wait  for  with  growing  emotion  : — 

"  O  they  rade  in  the  rain,  in  the  days  that  are  gane, 

In  the  rain  and  the  wind  and  the  lave, 
They  shoutit  in  the  ha'  and  they  routit  on  the  hill, 

But  they' re  a'  quaitit  noo  in  the  grave. 

Auld,  auld  Elliotts,  clay-cauld  Elliotts,    dour,  bauld  Elliotts  of 
auld  !" 

All  the  time  she  sang  she  looked  stead- 
fastly before  her,  her  knees  straight,  her  hands 


CHRISTINA'S  PSALM-BOOK         i?9 

upon  her  knee,  her  head  cast  back  and  up. 
The  expression  was  admirable  throughout, 
for  had  she  not  learned  it  from  the  lips  and 
under  the  criticism  of  the  author  ?  When 
it  was  done,  she  turned  upon  Archie  a  face 
softly  bright,  and  eyes  gently  suffused  and 
shining  in  the  twilight,  and  his  heart  rose  and 
went  out  to  her  with  boundless  pity  and  sym- 
pathy. His  question  was  answered.  She 
was  a  human  being  tuned  to  a  sense  of  the 
tragedy  of  life ;  there  were  pathos  and  music 
and  a  great  heart  in  the  girl. 

He  arose  instinctively,  she  also;  for  she 
saw  she  had  gained  a  point,  and  scored  the 
impression  deeper,  and  she  had  wit  enough 
left  to  flee  upon  a  victory.  They  were  but 
commonplaces  that  remained  to  be  exchanged, 
but  the  low,  moved  voices  in  which  they 
passed  made  them  sacred  in  the  memory.  In 
the  falling  greyness  of  the  evening  he 
watched  her  figure  winding  through  the 
morass,  saw  it  turn  a  last  time  and  wave  a 
hand,  and  then  pass  through  the  Slap;  and  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  something  went  along 
with  her  out  of  the  deepest  of  his  heart. 


l8o  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

And  something  surely  had  come,  and  come 
to  dwell  there.  He  had  retained  from  child- 
hood a  picture,  now  half-obliterated  by  the 
passage  of  time  and  the  multitude  of  fresh 
impressions,  of  his  mother  telling  him,  with 
the  fluttered  earnestness  of  her  voice,  and 
often  with  dropping  tears,  the  tale  of  the 
"Praying  Weaver,"  on  the  very  scene  of  his 
brief  tragedy  and  long  repose.  And  now 
there  was  a  companion  piece;  and  he  beheld, 
and  he  should  behold  forever,  Christina 
perched  on  the  same  tomb,  in  the  grey  col- 
ours of  the  evening,  gracious,  dainty,  perfect 
as  a  flower,  and  she  also  singing  — 

"  Of  old,  unhappy    far-off  things, 
And  battles  long  ago," 

— of  their  common  ancestors  now  dead,  of 
their  rude  wars  composed,  their  weapons 
buried  with  them,  and  of  these  strange 
changelings,  their  descendants,  who  lingered 
a  little  in  their  places,  and  would  soon  be 
gone  also,  and  perhaps  sung  of  by  others  at 
the  gloaming  hour.  .  By  one  of  the  uncon- 
scious arts  of  tenderness  the  two  women 
were  enshrined  together  in  his  memory. 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         181 

Tears,  in  that  hour  of  sensibility,  came  into 
his  eyes  indifferently  at  the  thought  of  either, 
and  the  girl,  from  being  something  merely 
bright  and  shapely,  was  caught  up  into  the 
zone  of  things  serious  as  life  and  death  and 
his  dead  mother.  So  that  in  all  ways  and  on 
either  side,  Fate  played  his  game  artfully 
with  this  poor  pair  of  children.  The  gen- 
erations were  prepared,  the  pangs  were  made 
ready,  before  the  curtain  rose  on  the  dark 
drama. 

In  the  same  moment  of  time  that  she  dis- 
appeared from  Archie,  there  opened  before 
Kirstie's  eyes  the  cup-like  hollow  in  which 
the  farm  lay.  She  saw,  some  five  hundred 
feet  below  her,  the  house  making  itself  bright 
with  candles,  and  this  was  a  broad  hint  to  her 
to  hurry.  For  they  were  only  kindled  on  a 
Sabbath  night  with  a  view  to  that  family 
worship  which  rounded  in  the  incomparable 
tedium  of  the  day  and  brought  on  the  relaxa- 
tion of  supper.  Already  she  knew  that 
Robert  must  be  within-sides  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  "  waling  the  portions  ;"  for  it  was 


182  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

Robert  in  his  quality  of  family  priest  and 
judge,  not  the  gifted  Gilbert,  who  officiated. 
She  made  good  time  accordingly  down  the 
steep  ascent,  and  came  up  to  the  door  panting 
as  the  three  younger  brothers,  all  roused  at 
last  from  slumber,  stood  together  in  the  cool 
and  the  dark  of  the  evening  with  a  fry  of 
nephews  and  nieces  about  them,  chatting  and 
awaiting  the  expected  signal.  She  stood 
back ;  she  had  no  mind  to  direct  attention  to 
her  late  arrival  or  to  her  labouring  breath. 

"  Kirstie,  ye  have  shaved  it  this  time,  my 
lass,"  said  Clem.  "  Whaur  were  ye  ?  " 

"  O,  just  taking  a  dander  by  myseP,"  said 
Kirstie. 

And  the  talk  continued  on  the  subject  of 
the  American  war,  without  further  reference 
to  the  truant  who  stood  by  them  in  the  covert 
of  the  dusk,  thrilling  with  happiness  and  the 
sense  of  guilt. 

The  signal  was  given,  and  the  brothers 
began  to  go  in  one  after  another,  amid  the 
jostle  and  throng  of  Hob's  children. 

Only  Dandie,  waiting  till  the  last,  caught 
Kirstie  by  the  arm.  "  When  did  ye  begin 


CHRISTINA'S   PSALM-BOOK         183 

to  dander  in  pink  hosen,  Mistress  Elliott  ?  " 
he  whispered  slyly. 

She  looked  down ;  she  was  one  blush.  "  I 
maun  have  forgotten  to  change  them,"  said 
she  j  and  went  into  prayers  in  her  turn  with 
a  troubled  mind,  between  anxiety  as  to 
whether  Dand  should  have  observed  her  yel- 
low stockings  at  church,  and  should  thus 
detect  her  in  a  palpable  falsehood,  and  shame 
that  she  had  already  made  good  his  prophecy. 

She  remembered  the  words  of  it,  how  it 
was  to  be  when  she  had  gotten  a  jo,  and  that 
that  would  be  for  good  and  evil.  "  Will  I 
have  gotten  my  jo  now  ?  "  she  thought  with 
a  secret  rapture. 

And  all  through  prayers,  where  it  was  her 
principal  business  to  conceal  the  pink  stock- 
ings from  the  eyes  of  the  indifferent  Mrs. 
Hob  —  and  all  through  supper,  as  she  made 
a  feint  of  eating  and  sat  at  the  table  radiant 
and  constrained  — and  again  when  she  had 
left  them  and  come  into  her  chamber,  and 
was  alone  with  her  sleeping  niece,  and  could 
at  last  lay  aside  the  armour  of  society  —  the 
same  words  sounded  within  her,  the  same 


184  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

profound  note  of  happiness,  of  a  world  all 
changed  and  renewed,  of  a  day  that  had  been 
passed  in  Paradise,  and  of  a  night  that  was  to 
be  heaven  opened.  All  night  she  seemed  to 
be  conveyed  smoothly  upon  a  shallow  stream 
of  sleep  and  waking,  and  through  the  bowers 
of  Beulah  ;  all  night  she  cherished  to  her 
heart  that  exquisite  hope  ;  and  if,  towards 
morning,  she  forgot  it  awhile  in  a  more  pro- 
found unconsciousness,  it  was  to  catch  again 
the  rainbow  thought  with  her  first  moment 
of  awaking. 


Chapter  VII 

ENTER    MEPHISTOPHELES 

Two  days  later  a  gig  from  Crossmichael 
deposited  Frank  Innes  at  the  doors  of  Herm- 
iston.  Once  in  a  way,  during  the  past 
winter,  Archie,  in  some  acute  phase  of  bore- 
dom, had  written  him  a  letter.  It  had  con- 
tained something  in  the  nature  of  an  invita- 
tion, or  a  reference  to  an  invitation — pre- 
cisely what,  neither  of  them  now  remembered. 
When  Innes  had  received  it,  there  had  been 
nothing  further  from  his  mind  than  to  bury 
himself  in  the  moors  with  Archie ;  but  not 
even  the  most  acute  political  heads  are  guided 
through  the  steps  of  life  with  unerring  direct- 
ness. That  would  require  a  gift  of  prophecy 
which  has  been  denied  to  man.  For  instance, 
who  could  have  imagined  that,  not  a  month 
after  he  had  received  the  letter,  and  turned  it 
into  mockery,  and  put  off  answering  it,  and 
in  the  end  lost  it,  misfortunes  of  a  gloomy 
185 


186  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

cast  should  begin  to  thicken  over  Frank's 
career  ?  His  case  may  be  briefly  stated.  His 
father,  a  small  Morayshire  laird  with  a  large 
family,  became  recalcitrant  and  cut  off  the 
supplies ;  he  had  fitted  himself  out  with  the 
beginnings  of  quite  a  good  law  library,  which, 
upon  some  sudden  losses  on  the  turf,  he  had 
been  obliged  to  sell  before  they  were  paid 
for  ;  and  his  bookseller,  hearing  some  rumour 
of  the  event,  took  out  a  warrant  for  his 
arrest.  Innes  had  early  word  of  it,  and  was 
able  to  take  precautions.  In  this  immediate 
welter  of  his  affairs,  with  an  unpleasant  charge 
hanging  over  him,  he  had  judged  it  the  part 
of  prudence  to  be  off  instantly,  had  written  a 
fervid  letter  to  his  father  at  Inverauld,  and 
put  himself  in  the  coach  for  Crossmichael. 
Any  port  in  a  storm !  He  was  manfully 
turning  his  back  on  the  Parliament  House 
and  its  gay  babble,  on  porter  and  oysters,  the 
racecourse  and  the  ring ;  and  manfully  pre- 
pared, until  these  clouds  should  have  blown 
by,  to  share  a  living  grave  with  Archie  Weir 
at  Hermiston. 

To  do  him  justice,  he   was  no  less  sur- 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        187 

prised  to  be  going  than  Archie  was  to  see 
him  come ;  and  he  carried  off  his  wonder  with 
an  infinitely  better  grace. 

"  Well,  here  I  am  !"  said  he,  as  he  alighted. 
"  Pylades  has  come  to  Orestes  at  last.  By 
the  way,  did  you  get  my  answer  ?  No  ? 
How  very  provoking  !  Well,  here  I  am  to 
answer  for  myself,  and  that's  better  still." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  of  course," 
said  Archie,  "  I  make  you  heartily  welcome, 
of  course.  But  you  surely  have  not  come 
to  stay,  with  the  courts  still  sitting ;  is  that 
not  most  unwise?" 

"  Damn  the  courts  !  "  says  Frank.  "  What 
are  the  courts  to  friendship  and  a  little  fish- 
ing?" 

And  so  it  was  agreed  that  he  was  to  stay, 
with  no  term  to  the  visit  but  the  term  which 
he  had  privily  set  to  it  himself — the  day, 
namely,  when  his  father  should  have  come 
down  with  the  dust,  and  he  should  be  able  to 
pacify  the  bookseller.  On  such  vague  con- 
ditions there  began  for  these  two  young  men 
(who  were  not  even  friends)  a  life  of  great 
familiarity  and,  as  the  days  grew  on,  less  and 


l88  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

less  intimacy.  They  were  together  at  meal 
times,  together  o'  nights  when  the  hour  had 
come  for  whisky  toddy ;  but  it  might  have 
been  noticed  (had  there  been  anyone  to  pay 
heed)  that  they  were  rarely  so  much  together 
by  day.  Archie  had  Hermiston  to  attend  to, 
multifarious  activities  in  the  hills,  in  which  he 
did  not  require,  and  had  even  refused,  Frank's 
escort.  He  would  be  off  sometimes  in  the 
morning  and  leave  only  a  note  on  the  break- 
fast table  to  announce  the  fact ;  and  some- 
times, with  no  notice  at  all,  he  would  not  re- 
turn for  dinner  until  the  hour  was  long  past. 
Innes  groaned  under  these  desertions  ;  it  re- 
quired all  his  philosophy  to  sit  down  to  a 
solitary  breakfast  with  composure,  and  all  his 
unaffected  good-nature  to  be  able  to  greet 
Archie  with  friendliness  on  the  more  rare 
occasions  when  he  came  home  late  for 
dinner. 

11 1  wonder  what  on  earth  he  finds  to  do, 
Mrs.  Elliott  ?  "  said  he  one  morning,  after  he 
had  just  read  the  hasty  billet  and  sat  down  to 
table. 

"  I   suppose  it  will  be   business,  sir,"  re- 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        189 

plied  the  housekeeper  dryly,  measuring  his 
distance  off  to  him  by  an  indicated  curtsey. 

"  But  I  can't  imagine  what  business  !  "  he 
reiterated. 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  his  business,"  re- 
torted the  austere  Kirstie. 

He  turned  to  her  with  that  happy  bright- 
ness that  made  the  charm  of  his  disposition, 
and  broke  into  a  peal  of  healthy  and  natural 
laughter. 

"  Well  played,  Mrs.  Elliott !  "  he  cried, 
and  the  housekeeper's  face  relaxed  into  the 
shadow  of  an  iron  smile.  "  Well  played  in- 
deed ! "  said  he.  "  But  you  must  not  be 
making  a  stranger  of  me  like  that.  Why, 
Archie  and  I  were  at  the  High  School 
together,  and  we've  been  to  college  to- 
gether, and  we  were  going  to  the  Bar 
together,  when  —  you  know  !  Dear,  dear 
me  !  what  a  pity  that  was  !  A  life  spoiled, 
a  fine  young  fellow  as  good  as  buried  here  in 
the  wilderness  with  rustics ;  and  all  for  what  ? 
"A  frolic,  silly,  if  you  like,  but  no  more. 
God,  how  good  your  scones  are,  Mrs. 
Elliott." 


190  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

"  They're  no  mines,  it  was  the  lassie  made 
them,"  said  Kirstie  ;  "  and,  saving  your  pres- 
ence, there's  little  sense  in  taking  the  Lord's 
name  in  vain  about  idle  vivers  that  you  fill 
your  kyte  wi'." 

"  I  daresay  you're  perfectly  right,  ma'am," 
quoth  the  imperturbable  Frank.  "  But,  as  I 
was  saying,  this  is  a  pitiable  business,  this 
about  poor  Archie;  and  you  and  I  might  do 
worse  than  put  our  heads  together,  like  a 
couple  of  sensible  people,  and  bring  it  to  an 
end.  Let  me  tell  you,  ma'am,  that  Archie  is 
really  quite  a  promising  young  man,  and  in 
my  opinion  he  would  do  well  at  the  Bar. 
As  for  his  father,  no  one  can  deny  his 
ability,  and  I  don't  fancy  any  one  would 
care  to  deny  that  he  has  the  deil's  own 
temper — " 

"If  you'll  excuse  me,  Mr.  Innes,  I  think 
the  lass  is  crying  on  me,"  said  Kirstie,  and 
flounced  from  the'room. 

"The  damned,  cross-grained,  old  broom- 
stick ! "  ejaculated  Innes. 

In  the  meantime,  Kirstie  had  escaped  into 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        191 

the  kitchen,  and  before  her  vassal  gave  vent 
to  her  feelings. 

"  Here,  ettercap  !  Ye  '11  have  to  wait 
on  yon  Innes !  I  canna  haud  myself  in. 
1  Puir  Erchie  ' !  I'd  l  puir  Erchie  '  him,  if 
I  had  my  way !  And  Hermiston  with 
the  deil's  ain  temper !  God,  let  him  take 
Hermiston's  scones  out  of  his  mouth  first. 
There's  no  a  hair  on  ayther  o'  the  Weirs 
that  hasna  mair  spunk  and  dirdum  to  it 
than  what  he  has  in  his  hale  dwaibly  body  ! 
Settin'  up  his  snash  to  me !  Let  him 
gang  to  the  black  toon  where  he 's  mebbe 
wantit  —  birling  in  a  curricle  —  wi'  pima- 
tum  on  his  heid  —  making  a  mess  o'  him- 
sel'  wi'  nesty  hizzies  —  a  fair  disgrace!" 
It  was  impossible  to  hear  without  admira- 
tion Kirstie's  graduated  disgust,  as  she 
brought  forth,  one  after  another,  these  some- 
what baseless  charges.  Then  she  remem- 
bered her  immediate  purpose,  and  turned 
again  on  her  fascinated  auditor.  "  Do  ye 
no  hear  me,  tawpie  ?  Do  ye  no  hear 
what  I  'm  tellin'  ye  ?  Will  I  have  to  shoo 
ye  in  to  him  ?  If  I  come  to  attend  to  ye, 


i9z           WEIR   OF  HERMISTON 

mistress  !  "  And  the  maid  fled  the  kitchen, 
which  had  become  practically  dangerous, 
to  attend  on  Innes'  wants  in  the  front 
parlour. 

Tantaene  irae?  Has  the  reader  perceived 
the  reason  ?  Since  Frank's  coming  there 
were  no  more  hours  of  gossip  over  the 
supper  tray !  All  his  blandishments  were 
in  vain ;  he  had  started  handicapped  on  the 
race  for  Mrs.  Elliott's  favour. 

But  it  was  a  strange  thing  how  mis- 
fortune dogged  him  in  his  efforts  to  be 
genial.  I  must  guard  the  reader  against 
accepting  Kirstie's  epithets  as  evidence ; 
she  was  more  concerned  for  their  vigour 
than  for  their  accuracy.  Dwaibly,  for  in- 
stance; nothing  could  be  more  calumni- 
ous. Frank  was  the  very  picture  of  good 
looks,  good  humour,  and  manly  youth. 
He  had  bright  eyes  with  a  sparkle  and 
a  dance  to  them,  curly  hair,  a  charming 
smile,  brilliant  teeth,  an  admirable  car- 
riage of  the  head,  the  look  of  a  gentleman, 
the  address  of  one  accustomed  to  please  at 
first  sight  and  to  improve  the  impression. 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        193 

And  with  all  these  advantages,  he  failed  with 
everyone  about  Hermiston ;  with  the  silent 
shepherd,  with  the  obsequious  grieve,  with 
the  groom  who  was  also  the  ploughman,  with 
the  gardener  and  the  gardener's  sister — a 
pious,  down-hearted  woman  with  a  shawl 
over  her  ears — he  failed  equally  and  flatly. 
They  did  not  like  him,  and  they  showed  it. 
The  little  maid,  indeed,  was  an  exception ; 
she  admired  him  devoutly,  probably  dreamed 
of  him  in  her  private  hours  ;  but  she  was  ac- 
customed to  play  the  part  of  silent  auditor  to 
Kirstie's  tirades  and  silent  recipient  of  Kir- 
stie's  buffets,  and  she  had  learned  not  only  to 
be  a  very  capable  girl  of  her  years,  but  a 
very  secret  and  prudent  one  besides.  Frank 
was  thus  conscious  that  he  had  one  ally  and 
sympathiser  in  the  midst  of  that  general  union 
of  disfavour  that  surrounded,  watched,  and 
waited  on  him  in  the  house  of  Hermiston ; 
but  he  had  little  comfort  or  society  from  that 
alliance,  and  the  demure  little  maid  (twelve 
on  her  last  birthday)  preserved  her  own  coun- 
sel, and  tripped  on  his  service,  brisk,  dumbly 
responsive,  but  inexorably  unconversational. 


194  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

For  the  others,  they  were  beyond  hope  and 
beyond  endurance.  Never  had  a  young 
Apollo  been  cast  among  such  rustic  barba- 
rians. But  perhaps  the  cause  of  his  ill-success 
lay  in  one  trait  which  was  habitual  and  un- 
conscious with  him,  yet  diagnostic  of  the 
man.  It  was  his  practice  to  approach  any 
one  person  at  the  expense  of  someone  else. 
He  offered  you  an  alliance  against  the  some- 
one else;  he  flattered  you  by  slighting  him;  you 
were  drawn  into  a  small  intrigue  against  him 
before  you  knew  how.  Wonderful  are  the 
virtues  of  this  process  generally  ;  but  Frank's 
mistake  was  in  the  choice  of  the  someone 
else.  He  was  not  politic  in  that;  he  listened 
to  the  voice  of  irritation.  Archie  had  offend- 
ed him  at  first  by  what  he  had  felt  to  be 
rather  a  dry  reception ;  had  offended  him 
since  by  his  frequent  absences.  He  was 
besides  the  one  figure  continually  present 
in  Frank's  eye ;  and  it  was  to  his  immediate 
dependents  that  Frank  could  offer  the  snare 
of  his  sympathy.  Now  the  truth  is  that  the 
Weirs,  father  and  son,  were  surrounded  by  a 
posse  of  strenuous  loyalists.  Of  my  lord 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        195 

they  were  vastly  proud.  It  was  a  distinction 
in  itself  to  be  one  of  the  vassals  of  the 
"  Hanging  Judge,"  and  his  gross,  formidable 
joviality  was  far  from  unpopular  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  his  home.  For  Archie  they 
had,  one  and  all,  a  sensitive  affection  and  re- 
spect which  recoiled  from  a  word  of  belittle- 
ment. 

Nor  was  Frank  more  successful  when  he 
went  farther  afield.  To  the  Four  Black 
Brothers,  for  instance,  he  was  antipathetic  in 
the  highest  degree.  Hob  thought  him  too 
light,  Gib  too  profane.  Clem,  who  saw 
him  but  for  a  day  or  two  before  he  went  to 
Glasgow,  wanted  to  know  what  the  fule's 
business  was,  and  whether  he  meant  to  stay 
here  all  session  time !  "  Yon  's  a  drone,-"  he 
pronounced.  As  for  Dand,  it  will  be  enough 
to  describe  their  first  meeting,  when  Frank 
had  been  whipping  a  river  and  the  rustic 
celebrity  chanced  to  come  along  the  path. 

"  I  'm  told  you  are  quite  a  poet,"  Frank 
had  said. 

"Wha  tell  't  ye  that,  mannie?  "  had  been 
the  unconciliating  answer. 


I96  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

"  O,  everybody  "  says  Frank. 

"  God !  Here  's  fame  !  "  said  the  sardonic 
poet,  and  he  had  passed  on  his  way. 

Come  to  think  of  it,  we  have  here  perhaps 
a  truer  explanation  of  Frank's  failures.  Had 
he  met  Mr.  Sheriff  Scott  he  could  have 
turned  a  neater  compliment,  because  Mr. 
Scott  would  have  been  a  friend  worth  mak- 
ing. Dand,  on  the  other  hand,  he  did  not 
value  sixpence,  and  he  showed  it  even  while 
he  tried  to  flatter.  Condescension  is  an  ex- 
cellent thing,  but  it  is  strange  how  one-sided 
the  pleasure  of  it  is  !  He  who  goes  fishing 
among  the  Scots  peasantry  with  condescen- 
sion for  a  bait  will  have  an  empty  basket  by 
evening. 

In  proof  of  this  theory  Frank  made  a 
great  success  of  it  at  the  Crossmichael  Club, 
to  which  Archie  took  him  immediately  on  his 
arrival ;  his  own  last  appearance  on  that 
scene  of  gaiety.  Frank  was  made  welcome 
there  at  once,  continued  to  go  regularly,  and 
had  attended  a  meeting  (as  the  members  ever 
after  loved  to  tell)  on  the  evening  before  his 
death.  Young  Hay  and  young  Pringle  ap- 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        197 

peared  again.  There  was  another  supper  at 
Windielaws,  another  dinner  at  Driffel ;  and 
it  resulted  in  Frank  being  taken  to  the  bosom 
of  the  county  people  as  unreservedly  as  he 
had  been  repudiated  by  the  country  folk.  He 
occupied  Hermiston  after  the  manner  of  an 
invader  in  a  conquered  capital.  He  was  per- 
petually issuing  from  it,  as  from  a  base,  to 
toddy  parties,  fishing  parties,  and  dinner  par- 
ties, to  which  Archie  was  not  invited,  or  to 
which  Archie  would  not  go.  It  was  now 
that  the  name  of  The  Recluse  became  gen- 
eral for  the  young  man.  Some  say  that 
Innes  invented  it ;  Innes,  at  least,  spread  it 
abroad. 

"  How  's  all  with  your  Recluse  to-day  ?  " 
people  would  ask. 

"O,  reclusing  away!"  Innes  would  de- 
clare, with  his  bright  air  of  saying  something 
witty  ;  and  immediately  interrupt  the  general 
laughter  which  he  had  provoked  much  more 
by  his  air  than  his  words,  "Mind  you,  it's 
^all  very  well  laughing,  but  I  'm  not  very 
well  pleased.  Poor  Archie  is  a  good  fellow, 
an  excellent  fellow,  a  fellow  I  always  liked. 


19^  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

I  think  it  small  of  him  to  take  his  little  dis- 
grace so  hard  and  shut  himself  up.  '  Grant 
that  it  is  a  ridiculous  story,  painfully  ridicu- 
lous,' I  keep  telling  him.  '  Be  a  man ! 
Live  it  down,  man ! '  But  not  he.  Of 
course  it 's  just  solitude,  and  shame,  and  all 
that.  But  I  confess  I  'm  beginning  to  fear 
the  result.  It  would  be  all  the  pities  in  the 
world  if  a  really  promising  fellow  like  Weir 
was  to  end  ill.  I'm  seriously  tempted  to 
write  to  Lord  Hermiston,  and  put  it  plainly 
to  him." 

"  I  would  if  I  were  you,"  some  of  his 
auditors  would  say,  shaking  the  head,  sitting 
bewildered  and  confused  at  this  new  view  of 
the  matter,  so  deftly  indicated  by  a  single 
word.  "  A  capital  idea  ?  "  they  would  add, 
and  wonder  at  the  aplomb  and  position  of  this 
young  man,  who  talked  as  a  matter  of  course 
of  writing  to  Hermiston  and  correcting  him 
upon  his  private  affairs. 

And  Frank  would  proceed,  sweetly  confi- 
dential :  "  I'll  give  you  an  idea,  now.  He's 
actually  sore  about  the  way  that  I'm  received 
and  he's  left  out  in  the  county  —  actually 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        199 

jealous  and  sore.  I've  rallied  him  and  I've 
reasoned  with  him,  told  him  that  everyone 
was  most  kindly  inclined  towards  him,  told 
him  even  that  I  was  received  merely  because  I 
was  his  guest.  But  it's  no  use.  He  will 
neither  accept  the  invitations  he  gets,  nor 
stop  brooding  about  the  ones  where  he's  left 
out.  What  I'm  afraid  of  is  that  the  wound's 
ulcerating.  He  had  always  one  of  those 
dark,  secret,  angry  natures — a  little  under- 
hand and  plenty  of  bile  —  you  know  the  sort. 
He  must  have  inherited  it  from  the  Weirs, 
whom  I  suspect  to  have  been  a  worthy 
family  of  weavers  somewhere;  what's  the 
cant  phrase  ?  —  sedentary  occupation.  It's 
precisely  the  kind  of  character  to  go  wrong 
in  a  false  position  like  what  his  father's  made 
for  him,  or  he's  making  for  himself,  which- 
ever you  like  to  call  it.  And  for  my  part,  I 
think  it  a  disgrace,"  Frank  would  say  gener- 
ously. 

Presently  the  sorrow  and  anxiety  of  this 
disinterested  friend  took  shape.  He  began 
in  private,  in  conversations  of  two,  to  talk 
vaguely  of  bad  habits  and  low  habits.  "  I 


200  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

must  say  I'm  afraid  he's  going  wrong  alto- 
gether," he  would  say.  "  I'll  tell  you  plainly, 
and  between  ourselves,  I  scarcely  like  to  stay 
there  any  longer;  only,  man,  I'm  positively 
afraid  to  leave  him  alone.  You'll  see,  I  shall 
be  blamed  for  it  later  on.  I'm  staying  at  a 
great  sacrifice.  I'm  hindering  my  chances 
at  the  Bar,  and  I  can't  blind  my  eyes  to  it. 
And  what  I'm  afraid  of  is  that  I'm  going  to 
get  kicked  for  it  all  round  before  all's  done. 
You  see,  nobody  believes  in  friendship  now- 
adays." 

"  Well,  Innes,"  his  interlocutor  would 
reply,  "  it's  very  good  of  you,  I  must  say 
that.  If  there's  any  blame  going  you'll  al- 
ways be  sure  of  my  good  word,  for  one  thing." 

"Well,"  Frank  would  continue,  "  candidly, 
I  don't  say  it's  pleasant.  He  has  a  very 
rough  way  with  him  ;  his  father's  son,  you 
know.  I  don't  say  he's  rude  —  of  course,  I 
couldn't  be  expected  to  stand  that — but  he 
steers  very  near  the  wind.  No,  it's  not 
pleasant ;  but  I  tell  ye,  man,  in  conscience  I 
don't  think  it  would  be  fair  to  leave  him. 
Mind  you,  I  don't  say  there's  anything  actu- 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        201 

ally  wrong.  What  I  say  is  that  I  don't  like 
the  looks  of  it,  man  !  "  and  he  would  press 
the  arm  of  his  momentary  confidant. 

In  the  early  stages  I  am  persuaded  there 
was  no  malice.  He  talked  but  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  airing  himself.  He  was  essentially 
glib,  as  becomes  the  young  advocate,  and 
essentially  careless  of  the  truth,  which  is  the 
mark  of  the  young  ass ;  and  so  he  talked  at 
random.  There  was  no  particular  bias,  but 
that  one  which  is  indigenous  and  universal,  to 
flatter  himself  and  to  please  and  interest  the 
present  friend.  And  by  thus  milling  air  out 
of  his  mouth,  he  had  presently  built  up  a 
presentation  of  Archie  which  was  known  and 
talked  of  in  all  corners  of  the  county.  Wher- 
ever there  was  a  residential  house  and  a 
walled  garden,  wherever  there  was  a  dwarfish 
castle  and  a  park,  wherever  a  quadruple  cot- 
tage by  the  ruins  of  a  peel-tower  showed  an 
old  family  going  down,  and  wherever  a  hand- 
some villa  with  a  carriage  approach  and  a 
^shrubbery  marked  the  coming  up  of  a  new 
one  —  probably  on  the  wheels  of  machinery 
—  Archie  began  to  be  regarded  in  the  light 


202  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

of  a  dark,  perhaps  a  vicious  mystery,  and  the 
future  developments  of  his  career  to  be 
looked  for  with  uneasiness  and  confidential 
whispering.  He  had  done  something  dis- 
graceful, my  dear.  What,  was  not  precisely 
known,  and  that  good  kind  young  man,  Mr. 
Innes,  did  his  best  to  make  light  of  it.  But 
there  it  was.  And  Mr.  Innes  was  very  anx- 
ious about  him  now ;  he  was  really  uneasy, 
my  dear ;  he  was  positively  wrecking  his  own 
prospects  because  he  dared  not  leave  him 
alone.  How  wholly  we  all  lie  at  the  mercy 
of  a  single  prater,  not  needfully  with  any 
malign  purpose  !  And  if  a  man  but  talks  of 
himself  in  the  right  spirit,  refers  to  his  virtu- 
ous actions  by  the  way,  and  never  applies  to 
them  the  name  of  virtue,  how  easily  his  evi- 
dence is  accepted  in  the  court  of  public 
opinion. 

All  this  while,  however,  there  was  a  more 
poisonous  ferment  at  work  between  the  two 
lads,  which  came  late  indeed  to  the  surface, 
but  had  modified  and  magnified  their  dissen- 
sions from  the  first.  To  an  idle,  shallow, 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        203 

easy-going  customer  like  Frank,  the  smell  of 
a  mystery  was  attractive.  It  gave  his  mind 
something  to  play  with,  like  a  new  toy  to  a 
child ;  and  it  took  him  on  the  weak  side,  for 
like  many  young  men  coming  to  the  Bar,  and 
before  they  have  been  tried  and  found  want- 
ing, he  flattered  himself  he  was  a  fellow  of 
unusual  quickness  and  penetration.  They 
knew  nothing  of  Sherlock  Holmes  in  these 
days,  but  there  was  a  good  deal  said  of  Talley- 
rand. And  if  you  could  have  caught  Frank 
off  his  guard,  he  would  have  confessed  with 
a  smirk  that,  if  he  resembled  anyone,  it  was 
the  Marquis  de  Talleyrand-Perigord.  It  was 
on  the  occasion  of  Archie's  first  absence  that 
this  interest  took  root.  It  was  vastly  deep- 
ened when  Kirstie  resented  his  curiosity  at 
breakfast,  and  that  same  afternoon  there 
occurred  another  scene  which  clinched  the 
business.  He  was  fishing  Swingleburn,  Archie 
accompanying  him,  when  the  latter  looked  at 
his  watch. 

"  Well,    good-bye,"    said    he.      "  I    have 
something  to  do.     See  you  at  dinner." 


204  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,"  cries  Frank. 
"  Hold  on  till  I  get  my  rod  up.  I'll  go  with 
you ;  I  'm  sick  of  flogging  this  ditch." 

And  he  began  to  reel  up  his  line. 

Archie  stood  speechless.  He  took  a  long 
while  to  recover  his  wits  under  this  direct 
attack ;  but  by  the  time  he  was  ready  with 
his  answer,  and  the  angle  was  almost  packed 
up,  he  had  become  completely  Weir,  and  the 
hanging  face  gloomed  on  his  young  shoulders. 
He  spoke  with  a  laboured  composure,  a 
laboured  kindness  even ;  but  a  child  could 
see  that  his  mind  was  made  up. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Innes ;  I  don't  want 
to  be  disagreeable,  but  let  us  understand  one 
another  from  the  beginning.  When  I  want 
your  company,  I  '11  let  you  know." 

"  Oh  !"  cries  Frank,  "  you  don't  want  my 
company,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Apparently  not  just  now,"  replied 
Archie.  "  I  even  indicated  to  you  when  I 
did,  if  you  '11  remember  —  and  that  was  at 
dinner.  If  we  two  fellows  are  to  live  to- 
gether pleasantly  —  and  I  see  no  reason  why 
we  should  not  —  it  can  only  be  by  respecting 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        205 

each  other's  privacy.  If  we  begin  intrud- 
ing " 

"  Oh,  come  !  I  '11  take  this  at  no  man's 
hands.  Is  this  the  way  you  treat  a  guest 
and  an  old  friend  ?  "  cried  Innes. 

"  Just  go  home  and  think  over  what  I  said 
by  yourself,"  continued  Archie,  "  whether 
it 's  reasonable,  or  whether  it 's  really  offen- 
sive or  not ;  and  let 's  meet  at  dinner  as 
though  nothing  had  happened.  I  '11  put  it 
this  way,  if  you  like  —  that  I  know  my  own 
character,  that  I  'm  looking  forward  (with 
great  pleasure,  I  assure  you)  to  a  long  visit 
from  you,  and  that  I  'm  taking  precautions  at 
the  first.  I  see  the  thing  that  we  —  that  I, 
if  you  like  —  might  fall  out  upon,  and  I  step 
in  and  obsto  prindpiis.  I  wager  you  five  pounds 
you  '11  end  by  seeing  that  I  mean  friendliness, 
and  I  assure  you,  Francie,  I  do,"  he  added, 
relenting. 

Bursting  with  anger,  but  Incapable  of 
speech,  Innes  shouldered  his  rod,  made  a 
gesture  of  farewell,  and  strode  off  down  the 
burn-side.  Archie  watched  him  go  with- 
out moving.  He  was  sorry,  but  quite  un- 


206  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

ashamed.  He  hated  to  be  inhospitable,  but 
in  one  thing  he  was  his  father's  son.  He 
had  a  strong  sense  that  his  house  was  his 
own  and  no  man  else's ;  and  to  lie  at  a 
guest's  mercy  was  what  he  refused.  He 
hated  to  seem  harsh.  But  that  was  Frank's 
look-out.  If  Frank  had  been  commonly  dis- 
creet, he  would  have  been  decently  cour- 
teous. And  there  was  another  consideration. 
The  secret  he  was  protecting  was  not  his 
own  merely  j  it  was  hers ;  it  belonged  to 
that  inexpressible  she  who  was  fast  taking 
possession  of  his  soul,  and  whom  he  would 
soon  have  defended  at  the  cost  of  burning 
cities.  By  the  time  he  had  watched  Frank 
as  far  as  the  Swingleburnfoot,  appearing  and 
disappearing  in  the  tarnished  heather,  still 
stalking  at  a  fierce  gait  but  already  dwindled 
in  the  distance  into  less  than  the  smallness  of 
Lilliput,  he  could  afford  to  smile  at  the 
occurrence.  Either  Frank  would  go,  and 
that  would  be  a  relief — or  he  would  con- 
tinue to  stay,  and  his  host  must  continue  to 
endure  him.  And  Archie  was  now  free  — 
by  devious  paths,  behind  hillocks  and  in  the 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        207 

hollow  of  burns  —  to  make  for  the  trysting- 
place  where  Kirstie,  cried  about  by  the  curlew 
and  the  plover,  waited  and  burned  for  his 
coming  by  the  Covenanter's  stone. 

Innes  went  off  down-hill  in  a  passion  of 
resentment,  easy  to  be  understood,  but  which 
yielded  progressively  to  the  needs  of  his  situ- 
ation. He  cursed  Archie  for  a  cold-hearted, 
unfriendly,  rude  dog;  and  himself  still 
more  passionately  for  a  fool  in  having  come 
to  Hermiston  when  he  might  have  sought 
refuge  in  almost  any  other  house  in  Scotland, 
but  the  step  once  taken  was  practically  irre- 
trievable. He  had  no  more  ready  money  to 
go  anywhere  else ;  he  would  have  to  borrow 
from  Archie  the  next  club-night;  and  ill  as 
he  thought  of  his  host's  manners,1  he  was 
sure  of  his  practical  generosity.  Frank's 
resemblance  to  Talleyrand  strikes  me  as  im- 
aginary ;  but  at  least  not  Talleyrand  himself 
could  have  more  obediently  taken  his  lesson 
from  the  facts.  He  met  Archie  at  dinner 
without  resentment,  almost  with  cordiality. 
You  must  take  your  friends  as  you  find  them, 
he  would  have  said.  Archie  couldn't  help 


2o8  WEIR  OF  HERMISTON 

being  his  father's  son,  or  his  grandfather's, 
the  hypothetical  weaver's,  grandson.  The 
son  of  a  hunks,  he  was  still  a  hunks  at 
heart,  incapable  of  true  generosity  and  con- 
sideration ;  but  he  had  other  qualities  with 
which  Frank  could  divert  himself  in  the 
meanwhile,  and  to  enjoy  which  it  was  nec- 
essary that  Frank  should  keep  his  temper. 

So  excellently  was  it  controlled  that  he 
awoke  next  morning  with  his  head  full  of  a 
different,  though  a  cognate  subject.  What 
was  Archie's  little  game  ?  Why  did  he  shun 
Frank's  company?  What  was  he  keeping 
secret?  Was  he  keeping  tryst  with  some- 
body, and  was  it  a  woman  ?  It  would  be  a 
good  joke  and  a  fair  revenge  to  discover. 
To  that  task  he  set  himself  with  a  great  deal 
of  patience,  which  might  have  surprised  his 
friends,  for  he  had  been  always  credited  not 
with  patience  so  much  as  brilliancy ;  and 
little  by  little,  from  one  point  to  another,  he 
at  last  succeeded  in  piecing  out  the  situation. 
First  he  remarked  that,  although  Archie  set 
out  in  all  the  directions  of  the  compass,  he 
always  came  home  again  from  some  point 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        209 

between  the  south  and  west.  From  the 
study  of  a  map,  and  in  consideration  of  the 
great  expanse  of  untenanted  moorland  run- 
ning in  that  direction  towards  the  sources  of 
the  Clyde,  he  laid  his  finger  on  Cauldstanes- 
lap  and  two  other  neighbouring  farms,  Kings- 
muirs  and  Polintarf.  But  it  was  difficult  to 
advance  farther.  With  his  rod  for  a  pretext, 
he  vainly  visited  each  of  them  in  turn; 
nothing  was  to  be  seen  suspicious  about  this 
trinity  of  moorland  settlements.  He  would 
have  tried  to  follow  Archie,  had  it  been  the 
least  possible,  but  the  nature  of  the  land  pre- 
cluded the  idea.  He  did  the  next  best, 
ensconced  himself  in  a  quiet  corner,  and 
pursued  his  movements  with  a  telescope.  It 
was  equally  in  vain,  and  he  soon  wearied  of 
his  futile  vigilance,  left  the  telescope  at 
home,  and  had  almost  given  the  matter  up 
in  despair,  when,  on  the  twenty-seventh  day 
of  his  visit,  he  was  suddenly  confronted  with 
the  person  whom  he  sought.  The  first  Sun- 
day Kirstie  had  managed  to  stay  away  from 
kirk  on  some  pretext  of  indisposition,  which 
was  more  truly  modesty;  the  pleasure  of 


zio           WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

beholding  Archie  seeming  too  sacred,  too 
vivid  for  that  public  place.  On  the  two 
following  Frank  had  himself  been  absent  on 
some  of  his  excursions  among  the  neighbour- 
ing families.  It  was  not  until  the  fourth, 
accordingly,  that  Frank  had  occasion  to  set 
eyes  on  the  enchantress.  With  the  first  look, 
all  hesitation  was  over.  She  came  with  the 
Cauldstaneslap  party;  then  she  lived  at 
Cauldstaneslap.  Here  was  Archie's  secret, 
here  was  the  woman,  and  more  than  that — 
though  I  have  need  here  of  every  manage- 
able attenuation  of  language  —  with  the  first 
look,  he  had  already  entered  himself  as  rival. 
It  was  a  good  deal  in  pique,  it  was  a  little  in 
revenge,  it  was  much  in  genuine  admiration : 
the  devil  may  decide  the  proportions;  I  can- 
not, and  it  is  very  likely  that  Frank  could 
not. 

"  Mighty  attractive  milkmaid,"  he  ob- 
served, on  the  way  home. 

"  Who  ?  "  said  Archie. 

"  O,  the  girl  you  're  looking  at  —  are  n't 
you  ?  Forward  there  on  the  road.  She 
came  attended  by  the  rustic  bard  ;  presuma- 


ENTER  MEPHISTOPHELES        211 

bly,  therefore,  belongs  to  his  exalted  family. 
The  single  objection !  for  the  four  black 
brothers  are  awkward  customers.  If  any- 
thing were  to  go  wrong,  Gib  would  gibber, 
and  Clem  would  prove  inclement ;  and  Dand 
fly  in  danders,  and  Hob  blow  up  in  gobbets. 
It  would  be  a  Helliott  of  a  business  !  " 

"  Very  humorous,  I  am  sure,"  said  Archie. 

"  Well,  I  am  trying  to  be  so,"  said  Frank. 
"  It 's  none  too  easy  in  this  place,  and  with 
your  solemn  society,  my  dear  fellow.  But 
confess  that  the  milkmaid  has  found  favour 
in  your  eyes,  or  resign  all  claim  to  be  a  man 
of  taste." 

"  It  is  no  matter,"  returned  Archie. 

But  the  other  continued  to  look  at  him, 
steadily  and  quizzically,  and  his  colour  slowly 
rose  and  deepened  under  the  glance,  until  not 
impudence  itself  could  have  denied  that  he 
was  blushing.  And  at  this  Archie  lost  some 
of  his  control.  He  changed  his  stick  from 
one  hand  to  the  other,  and  —  "  O,  for  God's 
sake,  don't  be  an  ass !  "  he  cried. 

"  Ass  ?  That 's  the  retort  delicate  with- 
out doubt,"  says  Frank.  "  Beware  of  the 


212  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

homespun  brothers,  dear.  If  they  come  into 
the  dance,  you  '11  see  who  's  an  ass.  Think 
now,  if  they  only  applied  (say)  a  quarter  as 
much  talent  as  I  have  applied  to  the  question 
of  what  Mr.  Archie  does  with  his  evening 
hours,  and  why  he  is  so  unaffectedly  nasty 
when  the  subject 's  touched  on  — 

"  You  are  touching  on  it  now,"  interrupted 
Archie  with  a  wince. 

"  Thank  you.  That  was  all  I  wanted,  an 
articulate  confession,"  said  Frank. 

"  I  beg  to  remind  you  —  "  began  Archie. 

But  he  was  interrupted  in  turn.  "  My 
dear  fellow,  do  n't.  It 's  quite  needless. 
The  subject's  dead  and  buried." 

And  Frank  began  to  talk  hastily  on  other 
matters,  an  art  in  which  he  was  an  adept,  for 
it  was  his  gift  to  be  fluent  on  anything  or 
nothing.  But  although  Archie  had  the  grace 
or  the  timidity  to  suffer  him  to  rattle  on,  he 
was  by  no  means  done  with  the  subject. 
When  he  came  home  to  dinner,  he  was 
greeted  with  a  sly  demand,  how  things  were 
looking  "  Cauldstaneslap  ways."  Frank  took 
his  first  glass  of  port  out  after  dinner  to  the 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        213 

toast  of  Kirstie,  and  later  in  the  evening  he 
returned  to  the  charge  again. 

"  I  say,  Weir,  you  '11  excuse  me  for  re- 
turning again  to  this  affair.  I  've  been  think- 
ing it  over,  and  I  wish  to  beg  you  very 
seriously  to  be  more  careful.  It 's  not  a  safe 
business.  Not  safe,  my  boy,"  said  he. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Archie. 

"  Well,  it 's  your  own  fault  if  I  must  put 
a  name  on  the  thing ;  but  really,  as  a  friend, 
I  cannot  stand  by  and  see  you  rushing  head 
down  into  these  dangers.  My  dear  boy," 
said  he,  holding  up  a  warning  cigar,  "  con- 
sider !  What  is  to  be  the  end  of  it  ?  " 

"  The  end  of  what  ?  "  —  Archie,  helpless 
with  irritation,  persisted  in  this  dangerous 
and  ungracious  guard. 

"  Well,  the  end  of  the  milkmaid ;  or,  to 
speak  more  by  the  card,  the  end  of  Miss 
Christina  Elliott  of  the  Cauldestaneslap  ?  " 

u  I  assure  you,"  Archie  broke  out,  "  this 
is  all  a  figment  of  your  imagination.  There 
is  nothing  to  be  said  against  that  young  lady ; 
you  have  no  right  to  introduce  her  name  into 
the  conversation." 


214  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

"  I  '11  make  a  note  of  it,"  said  Frank. 
"  She  shall  henceforth  be  nameless,  name- 
less, nameless,  Grigalach  !  I  make  a  note 
besides  of  your  valuable  testimony  to  her 
character.  I  only  want  to  look  at  this  thing 
as  a  man  of  the  world.  Admitted  she  's  an 
angel  —  but,  my  good  fellow,  is  she  a  lady  ?  " 

This  was  torture  to  Archie.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  he  said,  struggling  to  be  com- 
posed, "  but  because  you  have  wormed  your- 
self into  my  confidence  —  " 

"  O,  come  !  "  cried  Frank.  "  Your  con- 
fidence ?  It  was  rosy  but  unconsenting. 
Your  confidence,  indeed  ?  Now,  look ! 
This  is  what  I  must  say,  Weir,  for  it  con- 
cerns your  safety  and  good  character,  and 
therefore  my  honour  as  your  friend.  You 
say  I  wormed  myself  into  your  confidence. 
Wormed  is  good.  But  what  have  I  done  ? 
I  have  put  two  and  two  together,  just  as  the 
parish  will  be  doing  to-morrow,  and  the 
whole  of  Tweeddale  in  two  weeks,  and  the 
black  brothers  —  well,  I  won  't  put  a  date  on 
that ;  it  will  be  a  dark  and  stormy  morning. 
Your  secret,  in  other  words,  is  poor  Poll's. 


ENTER   MEPHISTOPHELES        215 

And  I  want  to  ask  of  you  as  a  friend  whether 
you  like  the  prospect  ?  There  are  two  horns 
to  your  dilemma,  and  I  must  say  for  myself 
I  should  look  mighty  ruefully  on  either.  Do 
you  see  yourself  explaining  to  the  Four  Black 
Brothers  ?  or  do  you  see  yourself  presenting 
the  milkmaid  to  papa  as  the  future  lady  of 
of  Hermiston  ?  Do  you  ?  I  tell  you  plainly, 
I  don  't !  " 

Archie  rose.  "  I  will  hear  no  more  of 
this,"  he  said  in  a  trembling  voice. 

But  Frank  again  held  up  his  cigar.  "  Tell 
me  one  thing  first.  Tell  me  if  this  is  not  a 
friend's  part  that  I  am  playing  ?  " 

"  I  believe  you  think  it  so,"  replied  Archie. 
"  I  can  go  as  far  as  that.  I  can  do  so  much 
justice  to  your  motives.  But  I  will  hear  no 
more  of  it.  I  am  going  to  bed." 

"  That 's  right  Weir,"  said  Frank,  heartily. 
"  Go  to  bed  and  think  over  it ;  and  I  say, 
man,  don 't  forget  your  prayers  !  I  don 't 
often  do  the  moral  —  don  't  go  in  for  that 
sort  of  thing  —  but  when  I  do  there 's  one 
thing  sure,  that  I  mean  it." 

So  Archie  marched  off  to  bed,  and  Frank 


216  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

sat  alone  by  the  table  for  another  hour  or  so, 
smiling  to  himself  richly.  There  was  noth- 
ing vindictive  in  his  nature ;  but,  if  revenge 
came  in  his  way,  it  might  as  well  be  good, 
and  the  thought  of  Archie's  pillow  reflec- 
tions that  night  was  indescribably  sweet  to 
him.  He  felt  a  pleasant  sense  of  power. 
He  looked  down  on  Archie  as  on  a  very 
little  boy  whose  strings  he  pulled  —  as  on  a 
horse  whom  he  had  backed  and  bridled  by 
sheer  power  of  intelligence,  and  whom  he 
might  ride  to  glory  or  the  grave  at  pleasure. 
Which  was  it  to  be  ?  He  lingered  long,  rel- 
ishing the  details  of  schemes  that  he  was  too 
idle  to  pursue.  Poor  cork  upon  a  torrent, 
he  tasted  that  night  the  sweets  of  omnipo- 
tence, and  brooded  like  a  deity  over  the 
strands  of  that  intrigue  which  was  to  shatter 
him  before  the  summer  waned. 


Chapter  VIII 

A    NOCTURNAL    VISIT 

Kirstie  had  many  causes  of  distress.  More 
and  more  as  we  grow  old  —  and  yet  more 
and  more  as  we  grow  old  and  are  women, 
frozen  by  the  fear  of  age  —  we  come  to 
rely  on  the  voice  as  the  single  outlet  of  the 
soul.  Only  thus,  in  the  curtailment  of  our 
means,  can  we  relieve  the  straitened  cry  of 
the  passion  within  us ;  only  thus,  in  the  bit- 
ter and  sensitive  shyness  of  advancing  years, 
can  we  maintain  relations  with  those  viva- 
cious figures  of  the  young  that  still  show 
before  us  and  tend  daily  to  become  no  more 
than  the  moving  wall-paper  of  life.  Talk  is 
the  last  link,  the  last  relation.  But  with  the 
end  of  the  conversation,  when  the  voice 
stops  and  the  bright  face  of  the  listener  is 
turned  away,  solitude  falls  again  on  the 
bruised  heart.  Kirstie  had  lost  her  "cannie 
217 


2i8  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

hour  at  e  'en ;  "  she  could  no  more  wander 
with  Archie,  a  ghost  if  you  will  but  a  happy 
ghost,  in  fields  Elysian.  And  to  her  it  was 
as  if  the  whole  world  had  fallen  silent ;  to 
him,  but  an  unremarkable  change  of  amuse- 
ments. And  she  raged  to  know  it.  The 
effervescency  of  her  passionate  and  irritable 
nature  rose  within  her  at  times  to  bursting 
point. 

This  is  the  price  paid  by  age  for  unseason- 
able ardours  of  feeling.  It  must  have  been 
so  for  Kirstie  at  any  time  when  the  occasion 
chanced ;  but  it  so  fell  out  that  she  was  de- 
prived of  this  delight  in  the  hour  when  she 
had  most  need  of  it,  when  she  had  most  to 
say,  most  to  ask,  and  when  she  trembled  to 
recognize  her  sovereignty  not  merely  in 
abeyance  but  annulled.  For,  with  the  clair- 
voyance of  a  genuine  love,  she  had  pierced 
the  mystery  that  had  so  long  embarrassed 
Frank.  She  was  conscious,  even  before  it 
was  carried  out,  even  on  that  Sunday  night 
when  it  began,  of  an  invasion  of  her  rights ; 
and  a  voice  told  her  the  invader's  name. 
Since  then,  by  arts,  by  accident,  by  small 


A   NOCTURNAL  VISIT  219 

things  observed,  and  by  the  general  drift  of 
Archie's  humour,  she  had  passed  beyond  all 
possibility  of  doubt.  With  a  sense  of  jus- 
tice that  Lord  Hermiston  might  have  envied, 
she  had  that  day  in  church  considered  and 
admitted  the  attractions  of  the  younger 
Kirstie  j  and  with  the  profound  humanity 
and  sentimentality  of  her  nature,  she  had 
recognised  the  coming  of  fate.  Not  thus 
would  she  have  chosen.  She  had  seen,  in 
imagination,  Archie  wedded  to  some  tall, 
powerful,  and  rosy  heroine  of  the  golden 
locks,  made  in  her  own  image,  for  whom 
she  would  have  strewed  the  bride-bed  with 
delight ;  and  now  she  could  have  wept  to  see 
the  ambition  falsified.  But  the  gods  had 
pronounced,  and  her  doom  was  otherwise. 

She  lay  tossing  in  bed  that  night,  besieged 
with  feverish  thoughts.  There  were  danger- 
ous matters  pending,  a  battle  was  toward, 
over  the  fate  of  which  she  hung  in  jealousy, 
sympathy,  fear,  and  alternate  loyalty  and  dis- 
loyalty to  either  side.  Now  she  was  re-in- 
carnated in  her  niece,  and  now  in  Archie. 
Now  she  saw,  through  the  girl's  eyes,  the 


220  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

youth  on  his  knees  to  her,  heard  his  persua- 
sive instances  with  a  deadly  weakness,  and 
received  his  over-mastering  caresses.  Anon, 
with  a  revulsion,  her  temper  raged  to  see 
such  utmost  favours  of  fortune  and  love 
squandered  on  a  brat  of  a  girl,  one  of  her 
own  house,  using  her  own  name  —  a  deadly 
ingredient  —  and  that  "  didnae  ken  her  ain 
mind  an'  was  as  black 's  your  hat."  Now 
she  trembled  lest  her  deity  should  plead  in 
vain,  loving  the  idea  of  success  for  him  like 
a  triumph  of  nature ;  anon,  with  returning 
loyalty  to  her  own  family  and  sex,  she 
trembled  for  Kirstie  and  the  credit  of  the 
Elliotts.  And  again  she  had  a  vision  of  her- 
self, the  day  over  for  her  old-world  tales  and 
local  gossip,  bidding  farewell  to  her  last  link 
with  life  and  brightness  and  love;  and  be- 
hind and  beyond,  she  saw  but  the  blank  butt- 
end  where  she  must  crawl  to  die.  Had  she 
then  come  to  the  lees  ?  she,  so  great,  so 
beautiful,  with  a  heart  as  fresh  as  a  girl's  and 
strong  as  womanhood  ?  It  could  not  be,  and 
yet  it  was  so ;  and  for  a  moment  her  bed 
was  horrible  to  her  as  the  sides  of  the  grave. 


A  NOCTURNAL  VISIT  221 

And  she  looked  forward  over  a  waste  of 
hours,  and  saw  herself  go  on  to  rage,  and 
tremble,  and  be  softened,  and  rage  again, 
until  the  day  came  and  the  labours  of  the  day 
must  be  renewed. 

Suddenly  she  heard  feet  on  the  stairs  — 
his  feet,  and  soon  after  the  sound  of  a  win- 
dow-sash flung  open.  She  sat  up  with  her 
heart  beating.  He  had  gone  to  his  room 
alone,  and  he  had  not  gone  to  bed.  She 
might  again  have  one  of  her  night  cracks ; 
and  at  the  entrancing  prospect,  a  change 
came  over  her  mind ;  with  the  approach  of 
this  hope  of  pleasure,  all  the  baser  metal 
became  immediately  obliterated  from  her 
thoughts.  She  rose,  all  woman,  and  all  the 
best  of  woman,  tender,  pitiful,  hating  the 
wrong,  loyal  to  her  own  sex  —  and  all  the 
weakest  of  that  dear  miscellany,  nourishing, 
cherishing  next  her  soft  heart,  voicelessly 
flattering,  hopes  that  she  would  have  died 
sooner  than  have  acknowledged.  She  tore 
off  her  nightcap,  and  her  hair  fell  about  her 
shoulders  in  profusion.  Undying  coquetry 
awoke.  By  the  faint  light  of  her  nocturnal 


222  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

rush,  she  stood  before  the  looking-glass,  car- 
ried her  shapely  arms  above  her  head,  and 
gathered  up  the  treasures  of  her  tresses.  She 
was  never  backward  to  admire  herself;  that 
kind  of  modesty  was  a  stranger  to  her  na- 
ture ;  and  she  paused,  struck  with  a  pleased 
wonder  at  the  sight.  "  Ye  daft  auld  wife  !  " 
she  said,  answering  a  thought  that  was  not ; 
and  she  blushed  with  the  innocent  conscious- 
ness of  a  child.  Hastily  she  did  up  the  mas- 
sive and  shining  coils,  hastily  donned  a  wrap- 
per, and  with  the  rush-light  in  her  hand, 
stole  into  the  hall.  Below  stairs  she  heard 
the  clock  ticking  the  deliberate  seconds,  and 
Frank  jingling  with  the  decanters  in  the  din- 
ing-room. Aversion  rose  in  her,  bitter  and 
momentary.  "  Nesty,  tippling  puggy!"she 
thought ;  and  the  next  moment  she  had 
knocked  guardedly  at  Archie's  door  and  was 
bidden  enter. 

Archie  had  been  looking  out  into  the  an- 
cient blackness,  pierced  here  and  there  with 
a  rayless  star  ;  taking  the  sweet  air  of  the 
moors  and  the  night  into  his  bosom  deeply ; 
seeking,  perhaps  finding,  peace  after  the 


A   NOCTURNAL  VISIT  223 

manner  of  the  unhappy.  He  turned  round 
as  she  came  in,  and  showed  her  a  pale  face 
against  the  window-frame. 

"  Is  that  you,  Kirstie  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Come 
in  !  " 

"  It 's  unco  late,  my  dear,"  said  Kirstie, 
affecting  unwillingness. 

"No,  no,"  he  answered,  "not  at  all. 
Come  in,  if  you  want  a  crack.  I  am  not 
sleepy,  God  knows  ?  " 

She  advanced,  took  a  chair  by  the  toilet 
table  and  the  candle,  and  set  the  rush-light  at 
her  foot.  Something  —  it  might  be  in  the 
comparative  disorder  of  her  dress,  it  might 
be  the  emotion  that  now  welled  in  her  bosom 
—  had  touched  her  with  a  wand  of  transfor- 
mation, and  she  seemed  young  with  the 
youth  of  goddesses. 

"  Mr.  Erchie,"  she  began,  "  what 's  this 
that's  come  to  ye  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  aware  of  anything  that  has 
come,"  said  Archie,  and  blushed  and  re- 
pented bitterly  that  he  had  let  her  in. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  that  '11  no  dae  !  "  said 
Kirstie.  "  It 's  ill  to  blind  the  eyes  of  love. 


224  WEIR  OF   HERMISTON 

Oh,  Mr.  Erchie,  talc'  a  thocht  ere  it 's  ower 
late.  Ye  shouldnae  be  impatient  o'  the 
braws  o'  life,  they  '11  a'  come  in  their  saison, 
like  the  sun  and  the  rain.  Ye  're  young 
yet ;  ye  've  mony  cantie  years  afore  ye. 
See  and  dinnae  wreck  yersel  at  the  outset 
like  sae  money  ithers  !  Hae  patience  — 
they  telled  me  aye  that  was  the  owercome  o' 
life  —  hae  patience,  there  's  a  braw  day  com- 
ing yet.  Gude  kens  it  never  cam  to  me ; 
and  here  I  am  wi'  nayther  man  nor  bairn  to 
ca'  my  ain,  wearying  a'  folks  wi'  my  ill 
tongue,  and  you  just  the  first,  Mr.  Erchie  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  difficulty  in  knowing  what  you 
mean,"  said  Archie. 

"Weel,  and  I'll  tell  ye,"  she  said.  "It's 
just  this,  that  I'm  feared.  I'm  feared  for  ye, 
my  dear.  Remember,  your  faither  is  a  hard 
man,  reaping  where  he  hasnae  sowed  and  gaith- 
ering  where  he  hasnae  strawed.  It 's  easy 
speakin',  but  mind  !  Ye  '11  have  to  look  in 
the  gurly  face  o  'm,  where  it 's  ill  to 
look,  and  vain  to  look  for  mercy.  Ye  mind 
me  o'  a  bonny  ship  pitten  oot  into  the  black 


A   NOCTURNAL  VISIT  225 

and  gowsty  seas — ye 're  a'  safe  still  sittin' 
quait  and  crackin'  wi'  Kirstie  in  your  lown 
chalmer;  but  whaur  will  ye  be  the  morn, 
and  in  whatten  horror  o'  the  fearsome  tem- 
pest, cryin'  on  the  hills  to  cover  ye  ?  " 

"Why,  Kirstie,  you're  very  enigmatical 
to-night  —  and  very  eloquent,"  Archie  put 
in. 

"  And,  my  dear  Mr.  Erchie,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  a  change  of  voice,  "  ye  mauna 
think  that  I  canna  sympathise  wi'  ye.  Ye 
mauna  think  that  I  havena  been  young 
mysel'.  Langsyne,  when  I  was  a  bit  lassie, 
no  twenty  yet  —  "  She  paused  and  sighed. 
"  Clean  and  caller,  wi'  a  fit  like  the  hinney 
bee,"  she  continued.  "  I  was  aye  big  and 
buirdly,  ye  maun  understand ;  a  bonny  figure 
o'  a  woman,  though  I  say  it  that  suldna  — 
built  to  rear  bairns  —  braw  bairns  they  suld 
hae  been,  and  grand  I  would  hae  likit  it ! 
But  I  was  young,  dear,  wi'  the  bonny  glint 
o'  youth  in  my  e'en,  and  little  I  dreamed  I  'd 
ever  be  tellin'  ye  this,  an  auld,  lanely,  rudas 
wife !  Weel,  Mr.  Erchie,  there  was  a  lad 


226  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

cam'  courtin'  me,  as  was  but  naetural. 
Mony  had  come  before,  and  I  would  nane  o' 
them.  But  this  yin  had  a  tongue  to  wile  the 
birds  frae  the  lift  and  the  bees  frae  the  fox- 
glove bells.  Deary  me,  but  it 's  lang  syne. 
Folk  have  deed  sinsyne  and  been  buried,  and 
are  forgotten,  and  bairns  been  born  and  got 
merrit  and  got  bairns  o'  their  ain.  Sinsyne 
woods  have  been  plantit,  and  have  grawn  up 
and  are  bonny  trees,  and  the  joes  sit  in  their 
shadow,  and  sinsyne  auld  estates  have 
changed  hands,  and  there  have  been  wars  and 
rumours  of  wars  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
And  here  I  'm  still  —  like  an  auld  droopit 
craw  —  lookin'  on  and  craikin'  ?  But,  Mr. 
Erchie,  do  ye  no  think  that  I  have  mind  o' 
it  a'  still  ?  I  was  dwalling  then  in  my 
faither's  house ;  and  it 's  a  curious  thing  that 
we  were  whiles  trysted  in  the  Deil's  Hags. 
And  do  ye  no  think  that  I  have  mind  of  the 
bonny  simmer  days,  the  lang  miles  o'  the 
bluid-red  heather,  the  cryin'  o'  the  whaups, 
and  the  lad  and  the  lassie  that  was  trysted  ? 
Do  ye  no  think  that  I  mind  how  the  hilly 
sweetness  ran  about  my  hairt.  Ay,  Mr, 


A  NOCTURNAL  VISIT  227 

Erchie,  I  ken  the  way  o'  it  —  fine  do  I  ken 
the  way  —  how  the  grace  o'  God  takes  them 
like  Paul  of  Tarsus,  when  they  think  oit 
least,  and  drives  the  pair  o'  them  into  a  land 
which  is  like  a  dream,  and  the  world  and  the 
folks  in  't  are  nae  mair  than  clouds  to  the 
puir  lassie,  and  Heeven  nae  mair  than  win- 
dle-straes,  if  she  can  but  pleesure  him ! 
Until  Tarn  deed  —  that  was  my  story,"  she 
broke  off  to  say,  "  he  deed,  and  I  wasna  at 
the  buryin'.  But  while  he  was  here,  I  could 
take  care  o'  mysel'.  And  can  yon  puir 
lassie  ?  " 

Kirstie,  her  eyes  shining  with  unshed  tears, 
stretched  out  her  hand  towards  him  appeal- 
ingly ;  the  bright  and  the  dull  gold  of  her 
hair  flashed  and  smouldered  in  the  coils  be- 
hind her  comely  head,  like  the  rays  of  an 
eternal  youth ;  the  pure  colour  had  risen  in 
her  face ;  and  Archie  was  abashed  alike  by 
her  beauty  and  her  story.  He  came  towards 
her  slowly  from  the  window,  took  up  her 
~hand  in  his  and  kissed  it. 

u  Kirstie,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  you  have 
misjudged  me  sorely.  I  have  always  thought 


228  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

of  her,  I  wouldna  harm  her  for  the  universe, 
my  woman  ? " 

"  Eh,  lad,  and  that 's  easy  sayin',"  cried 
Kirstie,  "  but  it 's  nane  sae  easy  doin' !  Man, 
do  ye  no  comprehend  that  it 's  God's  wull 
we  should  be  blendit  and  glamoured,  and 
have  nae  command  over  our  ain  members  at 
a  time  like  that  ?  My  bairn,"  she  cried,  still 
holding  his  hand,  "  think  o'  the  puir  lass  ! 
have  pity  upon  her,  Erchie  !  and  O,  be  wise 
for  twa  ?  Think  o'  the  risk  she  rins  !  I 
have  seen  ye  and  what 's  to  prevent  ithers  ? 
I  saw  ye  once  in  the  Hags,  in  my  ain  howl, 
and  I  was  wae  to  see  ye  there  —  in  pairt  for 
the  omen,  for  I  think  there  's  a  weird  on  the 
place  —  and  in  pairt  for  pure  nakit  envy  and 
bitterness  o'  hairt.  It 's  strange  ye  should 
forgather  there  tae !  God !  but  yon  puir, 
thrawn,  auld  Covenanter's  seen  a  heap  o' 
human  natur  since  he  lookit  his  last  on  the 
musket  barrels,  if  he  never  saw  nane  afore," 
she  added  with  a  kind  of  wonder  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  swear  by  my  honour  I  have  done  her 
no  wrong,"  said  Archie.  "  I  swear  by  my 


A   NOCTURNAL  VISIT  229 

honour  and  the  redemption  of  my  soul  that 
there  shall  none  be  done  her.  I  have  heard 
of  this  before.  I  have  been  foolish,  Kirstie, 
not  unkind  and,  above  all,  not  base." 

"  There  's  my  bairn  !  "  said  Kirstie,  rising. 
"  I  '11  can  trust  ye  noo,  I  '11  can  gang  to  my 
bed  wi'  an  easy  hairt."  And  then  she  saw 
in  a  flash  how  barren  had  been  her  triumph. 
Archie  had  promised  to  spare  the  girl,  and  he 
would  keep  it ;  but  who  had  promised  to 
spare  Archie  ?  What  was  to  be  the  end  of 
it  ?  Over  a  maze  of  difficulties  she  glanced, 
and  saw,  at  the  end  of  every  passage,  the 
flinty  countenance  of  Hermiston.  And  a 
kind  of  horror  fell  upon  her  at  what  she  had 
done.  She  wore  a  tragic  mask.  "  Erchie, 
the  Lord  peety  you,  dear,  and  peety  me  !  I 
have  buildit  on  this  foundation,"  —  laying 
her  hand  heavily  on  his  shoulder  —  "and 
buildit  hie,  and  pit  my  hairt  in  the  buildin'  of 
it.  If  the  hale  hypothec  were  to  fa',  I  think, 
laddie,  I  would  dee  !  Excuse  a  daft  wife 
that  loves  ye,  and  that  kenned  your  mither. 
And  for  His  name's  sake  keep  yersel'  frae 


230  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

inordinate  desires  ;  baud  your  heart  in  baith 
your  hands,  carry  it  canny  and  laigh ;  dinna 
send  it  up  like  a  bairn's  kite  into  the  collies- 
hangie  o'  the  wunds?  Mind,  Maister  Erchie 
dear,  that  this  life's  a'  disappointment,  and  a 
mouthfu'  o'  mools  is  the  appointed  end." 

"  Ay,  but  Kirstie,  my  woman,  you  're 
asking  me  ower  much  at  last,"  said  Archie, 
profoundly  moved,  and  lapsing  into  the  broad 
Scots.  "  Ye  're  asking  what  nae  man  can 
grant  ye,  what  only  the  Lord  of  heaven  can 
grant  ye  if  He  see  fit.  Ay  !  And  can  even 
He  ?  I  can  promise  ye  what  I  shall  do,  and 
you  can  depend  on  that.  But  how  I  shall 
feel  —  my  woman,  that  is  long  past  thinking 
of!" 

They  were  both  standing  by  now  oppo- 
site each  other.  The  face  of  Archie  wore 
the  wretched  semblance  of  a  smile  ;  hers  was 
convulsed  for  a  moment. 

"  Promise  me  ae  thing,"  she  cried,  in  a 
sharp  voice.  "  Promise  me  ye  '11  never  do 
naething  without  telling  me." 


A  NOCTURNAL  VISIT  231 

"  No,  Kirstie,  I  canna  promise  ye  that," 
he  replied.  "  I  have  promised  enough,  God 
kens ! " 

"  May  the  blessing  of  God  lift  and  rest 
upon  ye,  dear  !  "  she  said. 

"  God  bless  ye,  my  old  friend,"  said  he. 


Chapter  IX 
AT  THE  WEAVER'S  STONE 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Archie 
drew  near  by  the  hill  path  to  the  Pray- 
ing Weaver's  stone.  The  Hags  were  in 
shadow.  But  still,  through  the  gate  of  the 
Slap,  the  sun  shot  a  last  arrow,  which  sped 
far  and  straight  across  the  surface  of  the 
moss,  here  and  there  touching  and  shining 
on  a  tussock,  and  lighted  at  length  on  the 
gravestone  and  the  small  figure  awaiting 
him  there.  The  emptiness  and  solitude  of 
the  great  moors  seemed  to  be  concentred 
there,  and  Kirstie  pointed  out  by  that  figure 
of  sunshine  for  the  only  inhabitant.  His 
first  sight  of  her  was  thus  excruciatingly 
sad,  like  a  glimpse  of  a  world  from  which 
all  light,  comfort,  and  society  were  on  the 
point  of  vanishing.  And  the  next  moment, 
when  she  had  turned  her  face  to  him  and 
232 


AT   THE   WEAVER'S   STONE      233 

the  quick  smile  had  enlightened  it,  the  whole 
face  of  nature  smiled  upon  him  in  her  smile 
of  welcome.  Archie's  slow  pace  was  quick- 
ened ;  his  legs  hasted  to  her  though  his  heart 
was  hanging  back.  The  girl,  upon  her  side, 
drew  herself  together  slowly  and  stood  up, 
expectant ;  she  was  all  languor,  her  face  was 
gone  white;  her  arms  ached  for  him,  her 
soul  was  on  tip-toes.  But  he  deceived  her, 
pausing  a  few  steps  away,  not  less  white 
than  herself,  and  holding  up  his  hand  with 
a  gesture  of  denial. 

"  No,  Christina,  not  to-day,"  he  said. 
"  To-day  I  have  to  talk  to  you  seriously. 
Sit  ye  down,  please,  there  where  you  were. 
Please  !  "  he  repeated. 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  in  Christina's 
heart  was  violent.  To  have  longed  and 
waited  these  weary  hours  for  him,  rehears- 
ing her  endearments  —  to  have  seen  him  at 
last  come  —  to  have  been  ready  there,  breath- 
less, wholly  passive,  his  to  do  what  he  would 
with  —  and  suddenly  to  have  found  herself 
confronted  with  a  grey-faced,  harsh  school- 
master—  it  was  too  rude  a  shock.  She 


234  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

could  have  wept,  but  pride  withheld  her. 
She  sat  down  on  the  stone,  from  which  she 
had  arisen,  part  with  the  instinct  of  obedi- 
ence, part  as  though  she  had  been  thrust 
there.  What  was  this  ?  Why  was  she 
rejected  ?  Had  she  ceased  to  please  ?  She 
stood  here  offering  her  wares,  and  he  would 
none  of  them  !  And  yet  they  were  all  his  ! 
His  to  take  and  keep,  not  his  to  refuse 
though !  In  her  quick  petulant  nature,  a 
moment  ago  on  fire  with  hope,  thwarted 
love  and  wounded  vanity  wrought.  The 
schoolmaster  that  there  is  in  all  men,  to 
the  despair  of  all  girls  and  most  women, 
was  now  completely  in  possession  of  Archie. 
He  had  passed  a  night  of  sermons ;  a  day  of 
reflection ;  he  had  come  wound  up  to  do 
his  duty ;  and  the  set  mouth,  which  in  him 
only  betrayed  the  effort  of  his  will,  to  her 
seemed  the  expression  of  an  averted  heart. 
It  was  the  same  with  his  constrained  voice 
and  embarrassed  utterance;  and  if  so  —  if 
it  was  all  over  —  the  pang  of  the  thought 
took  away  from  her  the  power  of  think- 
ing. 


AT  THE   WEAVER'S   STONE      235 

He  stood  before  her  some  way  off. 
"  Kirstie,  there's  been  too  much  of  this. 
We've  seen  too  much  of  each  other."  She 
looked  up  quickly  and  her  eyes  contracted. 
"  There 's  no  good  ever  comes  of  these  secret 
meetings.  They're  not  frank,  not  honest 
truly,  and  I  ought  to  have  seen  it.  People 
have  begun  to  talk  ;  and  it 's  not  right  of  me. 
Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see  somebody  will  have  been  talking 
to  ye,"  she  said  sullenly. 

"They  have,  more  than  one  of  them," 
replied  Archie. 

"  And  whae  were  they  ? "  she  cried. 
"And  what  kind  o'  love  do  ye  ca'  that, 
that's  ready  to  gang  round  like  a  whirligig 
at  folk  talking  ?  Do  ye  think  they  havena 
talked  to  me  ?  " 

"  Have  they  indeed  ?  "  said  Archie,  with 
a  quick  breath.  "That  is  what  I  feared. 
Who  were  they?  Who  has  dared " 

Archie  was  on  the  point  of  losing  his 
temper. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  not  any  one  had 
talked  to  Christina  on  the  matter;  and  she 


236  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

strenuously  repeated  her  own  first  question 
in  a  panic  of  self-defence. 

"Ah,  well!  what  does  it  matter?"  he 
said.  "  They  were  good  folk  that  wished 
well  to  us,  and  the  great  affair  is  that  there 
are  people  talking.  My  dear  girl,  we  have 
to  be  wise.  We  must  not  wreck  our  lives 
at  the  outset.  They  may  be  long  and  happy 
yet,  and  we  must  see  to  it,  Kirstie,  like 
God's  rational  creatures  and  not  like  fool 
children.  There  is  one  thing  we  must  see  to 
before  all.  You  're  worth  waiting  for,  Kirstie  ! 
worth  waiting  for  a  generation ;  it  would  be 
enough  reward." — And  here  he  remembered 
the  schoolmaster  again,  and  very  unwisely 
took  to  following  wisdom.  "  The  first  thing 
that  we  must  see  to,  is  that  there  shall  be  no 
scandal  about  for  my  father's  sake.  That 
would  ruin  all ;  do  ye  no  see  that  ?  " 

Kirstie  was  a  little  pleased,  there  had  been 
some  show  of  warmth  of  sentiment  in  what 
Archie  had  said  last.  But  the  dull  irritation 
still  persisted  in  her  bosom ;  with  the  abo- 
riginal instinct,  having  suffered  herself,  she 
wished  to  make  Archie  suffer. 


AT   THE   WEAVER'S   STONE      237 

And  besides,  there  had  come  out  the  word 
she  had  always  feared  to  hear  from  his  lips, 
the  name  of  his  father.  It  is  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that,  during  so  many  days  with  a  love 
avowed  between  them,  some  reference  had 
not  been  made  to  their  conjoint  future.  It 
had  in  fact  been  often  touched  upon,  and 
from  the  first  had  been  the  sore  point.  Kirstie 
had  wilfully  closed  the  eye  of  thought ;  she 
would  not  argue  even  with  herself;  gallant, 
desperate  little  heart,  she  had  accepted  the 
command  of  that  supreme  attraction  like  the 
call  of  fate  and  marched  blindfold  on  her 
doom.  But  Archie,  with  his  masculine  sense 
of  responsibility,  must  reason  ;  he  must  dwell 
on  some  future  good,  when  the  present  good 
was  all  in  all  to  Kirstie ;  he  must  talk  —  and 
talk  lamely,  as  necessity  drove  him  —  of  what 
was  to  be.  Again  and  again  he  had  touched 
on  marriage;  again  and  again  been  driven 
back  into  indistinctness  by  a  memory  of 
Lord  Hermiston.  And  Kirstie  had  been 
swift  to  understand  and  quick  to  choke  down 
and  smother  the  understanding ;  swift  to  leap 
up  in  flame  at  a  mention  of  that  hope,  which 


238  WEIR    OF   HERMISTON 

spoke  volumes  to  her  vanity  and  her  love, 
that  she  might  one  day  be  Mrs.  Weir  of 
Hermiston  ;  swift,  also,  to  recognise  in  his 
stumbling  or  throttled  utterance  the  death- 
knell  of  these  expectations,  and  constant, 
poor  girl !  in  her  large-minded  madness,  to 
go  on  and  to  reck  nothing  of  the  future. 
But  these  unfinished  references,  these  blinks 
in  which  his  heart  spoke,  and  his  memory 
and  reason  rose  up  to  silence  it  before  the 
words  were  well  uttered,  gave  her  unqualifi- 
able  agony.  She  was  raised  up  and  dashed 
down  again  bleeding.  The  recurrence  of  the 
subject  forced  her,  for  however  short  a  time, 
to  open  her  eyes  on  what  she  did  not  wish  to 
see;  and  it  had  invariably  ended  in  another 
disappointment.  So  now  again,  at  the  mere 
wind  of  its  coming,  at  the  mere  mention  of  his 
father's  name  —  who  might  seem  indeed  to 
have  accompanied  them  in  their  whole  moor- 
land courtship,  an  awful  figure  in  a  wig  with 
an  ironical  and  bitter  smile,  present  to  guilty 
consciousness  —  she  fled  from  it  head  down. 

"  Ye  havena  told  me  yet,"  she  said,  "  who 
was  it  spoke  ?  " 


AT  THE   WEAVER'S   STONE      239 

"  Your  aunt  for  one,"  said  Archie. 

"  Auntie  Kirstie  ?  "  she  cried.  "  And  what 
do  I  care  for  my  Auntie  Kirstie  ?  " 

"  She  cares  a  great  deal  for  her  niece," 
replied  Archie,  in  kind  reproof. 

"Troth,  and  it's  the  first  I've  heard  of 
it,"  retorted  the  girl. 

"  The  question  here  is  not  who  it  is, 
but  what  they  say,  what  they  have  noticed," 
pursued  the  lucid  schoolmaster.  "That 
is  what  we  have  to  think  of  in  self-de- 
fence." 

"  Auntie  Kirstie,  indeed  !  A  bitter,  thrawn 
auld  maid  that's  fomented  trouble  in  the 
country  before  I  was  born,  and  will  be  doing 
it  still,  I  daur  say,  when  I'm  deid  !  It's  in 
her  nature;  it's  as  natural  for  her  as  it's  for 
a  sheep  to  eat." 

"  Pardon  me,  Kirstie,  she  was  not  the 
only  one,"  interposed  Archie.  "  I  had  two 
warnings,  two  sermons,  last  night,  both  most 
kind  and  considerate.  Had  you  been  there, 
I  promise  you  you  would  have  grat,  my 
dear !  And  they  opened  my  eyes.  I  saw 
we  were  going  a  wrong-  way." 


240  WEIR    OF   HERMISTON 

"  Who  was  the  other  one  ? "  Kirstie 
demanded. 

By  this  time  Archie  was  in  the  condition 
of  a  hunted  beast.  He  had  come,  braced 
and  resolute ;  he  was  to  trace  out  a  line 
of  conduct  for  the  pair  of  them  in  a  few 
cold,  convincing  sentences ;  he  had  now  been 
there  some  time,  and  he  was  still  staggering 
round  the  outworks  and  undergoing  what  he 
felt  to  be  a  savage  cross-examination. 

"  Mr.  Frank  !  "  she  cried.  "  What  nex', 
I  would  like  to  ken  ?  " 

"  He  spoke  most  kindly  and  truly." 

"  What  like  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you ;  you  have 
nothing  to  do  with  that,"  cried  Archie, 
startled  to  find  he  had  admitted  so  much. 

"  O,  I  have  naething  to  do  with  it!"  she 
repeated,  springing  to  her  feet.  "A'body  at 
Hermiston  's  free  to  pass  their  opinions  upon 
me,  but  I  have  naething  to  do  wi'  it !  Was 
this  at  prayers  like?  Did  ye  ca'  the  grieve 
into  the  consultation  ?  Little  wonder  if 
a'body 's  talking,  when  ye  make  a'body  ye're 
confidants!  But  as  you  say,  Mr.  Weir, — 


AT  THE   WEAVER'S   STONE      241 

most  kindly,  most  considerately,  most  truly, 
I  'm  sure,  —  I  have  naething  to  do  with  it. 
And  I  think  I'll  better  be  going.  I'll  be 
wishing  you  good  evening,  Mr.  Weir." 
And  she  made  him  a  stately  curtsey,  shak- 
ing as  she  did  so  from  head  to  foot,  with 
the  barren  ecstasy  of  temper. 

Poor  Archie  stood  dumbfounded.  She  had 
moved  some  steps  away  from  him  before  he 
recovered  the  gift  of  articulate  speech. 

"Kirstie!"  he  cried.  "O,  Kirstie  woman!" 

There  was  in  his  voice  a  ring  of  appeal, 
a  clang  of  mere  astonishment  that  showed 
the  schoolmaster  was  vanquished. 

She  turned  round  on  him.  "What  do 
ye  Kirstie  me  for  ?  "  she  retorted.  "  What 
have  ye  to  do  wi'  me  ?  Gang  to  your  ain 
freends  and  deave  them  !  " 

He  could  only  repeat  the  appealing 
"  Kirstie ! " 

"  Kirstie,  indeed  !  "  cried  the  girl,  her  eyes 
blazing  in  her  white  face.  "  My  name  is 
Miss  Christina  Elliott,  I  would  have  ye  to 
ken,  and  I  daur  ye  to  ca'  me  out  of  it.  If 
I  canna  get  love,  I'll  have  respect,  Mr. 


242  WEIR   OF  HERMISTON 

Weir.  I  'm  come  of  decent  people,  and  I  '11 
have  respect.  What  have  I  done  that  ye 
should  lightly  me  ?  What  have  I  done  ? 
What  have  I  done  ?  O,  what  have  I 
done  ?  "  and  her  voice  rose  upon  the  third 
repetition.  "I  thocht  —  I  thocht  —  I  thocht 
I  was  sae  happy  !  "  and  the  first  sob  broke 
from  her  like  the  paroxysm  of  some  mortal 
sickness. 

Archie  ran  to  her.  He  took  the  poor 
child  in  his  arms,  and  she  nestled  to  his 
breast  as  to  a  mother's,  and  clasped  him 
in  hands  that  were  strong  like  vices.  He 
felt  her  whole  body  shaken  by  the  throes 
of  distress,  and  had  pity  upon  her  beyond 
speech.  Pity,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
bewildered  fear  of  this  explosive  engine  in 
his  arms,  whose  works  he  did  not  under- 
stand, and  yet  had  been  tampering  with. 
There  arose  from  before  him  the  curtains 
of  boyhood,  and  he  saw  for  the  first  time 
the  ambiguous  face  of  woman  as  she  is.  In 
vain  he  looked  back  over  the  interview ;  he 
saw  not  where  he  had  offended.  It  seemed 
unprovoked,  a  wilful  convulsion  of  brute 
nature. 


Editorial  Note 

With  the  words  last  printed,  "a  wilful  convul- 
sion of  brute  nature,"  the  romance  of  Weir  of 
Hermiston  breaks  off.  They  were  dictated,  I 
believe,  on  the  very  morning  of  the  writer's 
sudden  seizure  and  death.  Weir  of  Hermiston 
thus  remains  in  the  work  of  Stevenson  what 
Edwin  Drood  is  in  the  work  of  Dickens  or 
Denis  Duval  in  that  of  Thackeray  :  or  rather  it 
remains  relatively  more,  for  if  each  of  those  frag- 
ments holds  an  honourable  place  among  its  author's 
writings,  among  Stevenson's  the  fragment  of 
Weir  holds  certainly  the  highest. 

Readers  may  be  divided  in  opinion  on  the  ques- 
tion whether  they  would  or  they  would  not  wish 
to  hear  more  of  the  intended  course  of  the  story 
and  destinies  of  the  characters.  To  some,  silence 
may  seem  best,  and  that  the  mind  should  be  left  to 
its  own  conjectures  as  to  the  sequel,  with  the  help 
of  such  indications  as  the  text  affords.  I  confess 
that  this  is  the  view  which  has  my  sympathy.  But 
since  others,  and  those  almost  certainly  a  majority, 
243 


244           WEIR   OF  HERMISTON 

are  anxious  to  be  told  all  they  can,  and  since  edi- 
tors and  publishers  join  in  the  request,  I  can 
scarce  do  otherwise  than  comply.  The  intended 
argument,  then,  so  far  as  it  was  known  at  the 
time  of  the  writer's  death  to  his  step-daughter  and 
devoted  amanuensis,  Mrs.  Strong,  was  nearly  as 
follows  :  — 

Archie  persists  in  his  good  resolution  of  avoiding 
further  conduct  compromising  to  young  Kirstie's 
good  name.  Taking  advantage  of  the  situation 
thus  created,  and  of  the  girl's  unhappiness  and 
wounded  vanity,  Frank  Innes  pursues  his  purpose 
of  seduction ;  and  Kirstie,  though  still  caring  for 
Archie  in  her  heart,  allows  herself  to  become 
Frank's  victim.  Old  Kirstie  is  the  first  to  per- 
ceive something  amiss  with  her,  and  believing 
Archie  to  be  the  culprit,  accuses  him,  thus  making 
him  aware  for  the  first  time  that  mischief  has  hap- 
pened. He  does  not  at  once  deny  the  charge,  but 
seeks  out  and  questions  young  Kirstie,  who  con- 
fesses the  truth  to  him  ;  and  he,  still  loving  her, 
promises  to  protect  and  defend  her  in  her  trouble. 
He  then  has  an  interview  with  Frank  Innes  on 
the  moor,  which  ends  in  a  quarrel,  and  in  Archie 
killing  Frank  beside  the  Weaver's  Stone.  Mean- 
while the  Four  Black  Brothers,  having  become  aware 


EDITORIAL   NOTE  245 

of  their  sister's  betrayal,  are  bent  on  vengeance 
against  Archie  as  her  supposed  seducer.  They 
are  about  to  close  in  upon  him  with  this  purpose, 
when  he  is  arrested  by  the  officers  of  the  law  for 
the  murder  of  Frank.  He  is  tried  before  his  own 
father,  the  Lord  Justice-Clerk,  found  guilty,  and 
condemned  to  death.  Meanwhile  the  elder  Kirstie, 
having  discovered  from  the  girl  how  matters  really 
stand,  informs  her  nephews  of  the  truth  :  and  they, 
in  a  great  revujsion  of  feeling  in  Archie's  favour, 
determine  on  an  action  after  the  ancient  manner  of 
their  house.  They  gather  a  following,  and  after  a 
great  fight  break  the  prison  where  Archie  lies  con- 
fined, and  rescue  him.  He  and  young  Kirstie 
thereafter  escape  to  America.  But  the  ordeal  of 
taking  part  in  the  trial  of  his  own  son  has  been  too 
much  for  the  Lord  Justice- Clerk,  who  dies  of  the 
shock.  "  I  do  not  know,"  adds  the  amanuensis, 
"  what  becomes  of  old  Kirstie,  but  that  character 
grew  and  strengthened  so  in  the  writing  that  I  am 
sure  he  had  some  dramatic  destiny  for  her." 

The  plan  of  every  imaginative  work  is  subject, 
of  course,  to  change  under  the  artist's  hand  as  he 
carries  it  out ;  and  not  merely  the  character  of  the 
elder  Kirstie,  but  other  elements  of  the  design  no 
less,  might  well  have  deviated  from  the  lines 


246  WEIR    OF   HERMISTON 

originally  traced.  It  seems  certain,  however,  that 
the  next  stage  in  the  relations  of  Archie  and  the 
younger  Kirstie  would  have  been  as  above  fore- 
shadowed ;  this  conception  of  the  lover's  uncon- 
ventional chivalry  and  unshaken  devotion  to  his 
mistress  after  her  fault  is  very  characteristic  of  the 
author's  mind.  The  vengeance  to  be  taken  on 
the  seducer  beside  the  Weaver's  Stone  is  prepared 
for  in  the  first  words  of  the  Introduction  :  while 
the  situation  and  fate  of  the  judge,  confronting  like 
a  Brutus,  but  unable  to  survive,  the  duty  of  send- 
ing his  own  son  to  the  gallows,  seems  clearly  to 
have  been  destined  to  furnish  the  climax  and  essen- 
tial tragedy  of  the  tale.  How  this  circumstance 
was  to  have  been  brought  about  within  the  limits 
of  legal  usage  and  social  possibility,  seems  hard 
to  conjecture ;  but  it  was  a  point  to  which  the 
author  had  evidently  given  careful  consideration. 
Mrs.  Strong  says  simply  that  the  Lord  Justice- 
Clerk,  like  an  old  Roman,  condemns  his  son  to 
death ;  but  I  am  assured  on  the  best  legal  authority 
of  Scotland,  that  no  judge,  however  powerful  either 
by  character  or  office,  could  have  insisted  on  pre- 
siding at  the  trial  of  a  near  kinsman  of  his  own. 
The  Lord  Justice-Clerk  was  head  of  the  criminal 
justiciary  of  the  country ;  he  might  have  insisted 
on  his  right  of  being  present  on  the  bench  when 


EDITORIAL   NOTE  247 

his  son  was  tried ;  but  he  would  never  have  been 
allowed  to  preside  or  to  pass  sentence.  Now  in  a 
letter  of  Stevenson's  to  Mr.  Baxter,  of  October 
1892,  I  find  him  asking  for  materials  in  terms 
which  seem  to  indicate  that  he  knew  this  quite 
well:  —  "I  wish  Pitcairn's  'Criminal  Trials,' 
quant  primum.  Also  an  absolutely  correct  text  of 
the  Scots  judiciary  oath.  Also,  in  case  Pitcairn 
does  not  come  down  late  enough,  I  wish  as  full 
a  report  as  possible  of  a  Scots  murder  trial  between 
1790—1820.  Understand  the  fullest  possible.  Is 
there  any  book  which  would  guide  me  to  the 
following  facts?  The  Justice-Clerk  tries  some 
people  capitally  on  circuit.  Certain  evidence  crop- 
ping up,  the  charge  is  transferred  to  the  Justice- 
Clerk's  own  son.  Of  course  in  the  next  trial  the 
Justice-Clerk  is  excluded,  and  the  case  is  called 
before  the  Lord  Justice-General.  Where  would  this 
trial  have  to  be  ?  I  fear  in  Edinburgh,  which  would 
not  suit  my  view.  Could  it  be  again  at  the  circuit 
town  ? ' '  The  point  was  referred  to  a  quondam 
fellow-member  with  Stevenson  of  the  Edinburgh 
Speculative  Society,  Mr.  Graham  Murray,  the 
present  Solicitor-General  for  Scotland  ;  whose  reply 
was  to  the  effect  that  there  would  be  no  difficulty 
in  making  the  new  trial  take  place  at  the  circuit 
town  :  that  it  would  have  to  be  held  there  in  spring 


248  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

or  autumn,  before  two  Lords  of  Justiciary  ;  and  that 
the  Lord  Justice-General  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  this  title  being  at  the  date  in  question  only 
a  nominal  one  held  by  a  layman  (which  is  no  longer 
the  case).  On  this  Stevenson  writes,  "Graham 
Murray's  note  re  the  venue  was  highly  satisfactory, 
and  did  me  all  the  good  in  the  world."  The  terms 
of  his  inquiry  seem  to  imply  that  he  intended  other 
persons,  before  Archie,  to  have  fallen  first  under 
suspicion  of  the  murder  ;  and  also  —  doubtless  in 
order  to  make  the  rescue  by  the  Black  Brothers 
possible  —  that  he  wanted  Archie  to  be  imprisoned 
not  in  Edinburgh  but  in  the  circuit  town.  But 
they  do  not  show  how  he  meant  to  get  over  the 
main  difficulty,  which  at  the  same  time  he  fully 
recognises.  Can  it  have  been  that  Lord  Hermis- 
ton's  part  was  to  have  been  limited  to  presiding  at 
the  first  trial,  where  the  evidence  incriminating 
Archie  was  unexpectedly  brought  forward,  and  to 
directing  that  the  law  should  take  its  course  ? 

Whether  the  final  escape  and  union  of  Archie 
and  Christina  would  have  proved  equally  essential 
to  the  plot  may  perhaps  to  some  readers  seem 
questionable.  They  may  rather  feel  that  a  tragic 
destiny  is  foreshadowed  from  the  beginning  for  all 
concerned,  and  is  inherent  in  the  very  conditions 
of  the  tale.  But  on  this  point,  and  other  matters 


EDITORIAL   NOTE  249 

of  general  criticism  connected  with  it,  I  find  an 
interesting  discussion  by  the  author  himself  in  his 
correspondence.  Writing  to  Mr.  J.  M.  Barrie, 
under  date  November  I,  1892,  and  criticising  that 
author's  famous  story  of  The  Little  Minister, 
Stevenson  says : — 

"  Your  descriptions  of  your  dealings  with  Lord 
Rintoul  are  frightfully  unconscientious.  .  .  .  The 
Little  Minister  ought  to  have  ended  badly  ;  we  all 
know  it  did,  and  we  are  infinitely  grateful  to  you 
far  the  grace  and  good  feeling  with  which  you  have 
lied  about  it.  If  you  had  told  the  truth,  I  for  one 
could  never  have  forgiven  you.  As  you  had  con- 
ceived and  written  the  earlier  parts,  the  truth  about 
the  end,  though  indisputably  true  to  fact,  would 
have  been  a  lie,  or  what  is  worse,  a  discord  in  art. 
If  you  are  going  to  make  a  book  end  badly,  it  must 
end  badly  from  the  beginning.  Now,  your  book 
began  to  end  well.  You  let  yourself  fall  in  love 
with,  and  fondle,  and  smile  at  your  puppets.  Once 
you  had  done  that,  your  honour  was  committed  — 
at  the  cost  of  truth  to  life  you  were  bound  to  save 
them.  It  is  the  blot  on  Richard  Feverel  for  in- 
stance, that  it  begins  to  end  well  ;  and  then  tricks 
you  and  ends  ill.  But  in  this  case,  there  is  worse 
behind,  for  the  ill  ending  does  not  inherently  issue 
from  the  plot  —  the  story  had,  in  fact,  ended  well 


250           WEIR   OF  HERMISTON 

after  the  great  last  interview  between  Richard  and 
Lucy  —  and  the  blind,  illogical  bullet  which  smashes 
all  has  no  more  to  do  between  the  boards  than  a 
fly  has  to  do  with  a  room  into  whose  open  window 
it  comes  buzzing.  It  might  have  so  happened ;  it 
needed  not  ;  and  unless  needs  must,  we  have  no 
right  to  pain  our  readers.  I  have  had  a  heavy  case 
of  conscience  of  the  same  kind  about  my  Braxfield 
story.  Braxfield  —  only  his  name  is  Hermiston  — 
has  a  son  who  is  condemned  to  death  ;  plainly  there 
is  a  fine  tempting  fitness  about  this  —  and  I  meant 
he  was  to  hang.  But  on  considering  my  minor 
characters,  I  saw  there  were  five  people  who  would 
—  in  a  sense,  who  must  —  break  prison  and  attempt 
his  rescue.  They  are  capable  hardy  folks  too,  who 
might  very  well  succeed.  Why  should  they  not 
then  ?  Why  should  not  young  Hermiston  escape 
clear  out  of  the  country  ?  and  be  happy,  if  he  could, 
with  his  —  but  soft !  I  will  not  betray  my  secret 
nor  my  heroine.  ..." 

To  pass,  now,  from  the  question  how  the  story 
would  have  ended  to  the  question  how  it  originated 
and  grew  in  the  writer's  mind.  The  character 
of  the  hero,  Weir  of  Hermiston,  is  avowedly 
suggested  by  the  historical  personality  of  Robert 
Macqueen,  Lord  Braxfield.  This  famous  judge 
has  been  for  generations  the  subject  of  a  hundred 


EDITORIAL   NOTE  251 

Edinburgh  tales  and  anecdotes.  Readers  of  Ste- 
venson's essay  on  the  Raeburn  exhibition,  in 
Virginibus  Puerisque,  .will  remember  how  he  is 
fascinated  by  Raeburn' s  portrait  of  Braxfield,  even 
as  Lockhart  had  been  fascinated  by  a  different  por- 
trait of  the  same  worthy  sixty  years  before  (see 
Peter1  s  Letters  to  His  Kinsfolk'}  ;  nor  did  his 
interest  in  the  character  diminish  in  later  life. 

Again,  the  case  of  a  judge  involved  by  the 
exigencies  of  his  office  in  a  strong  conflict  between 
public  duty  and  private  interest  or  affection,  was  one 
which  had  always  attracted  and  exercised  Steven- 
son's imagination.  In  the  days  when  he  and 
Mr.  Henley  were  collaborating  with  a  view  to  the 
stage,  Mr.  Henley  once  proposed  a  plot  founded 
on  the  story  of  Mr.  Justice  Harbottle  in  Sheridan 
Le  Fanu's  In  a  Glass  Darkly,  in  which  the 
wicked  judge  goes  headlong  per  fas  et  nefas  to  his 
object  of  getting  the  husband  of  his  mistress  hanged. 
Some  time  later  Stevenson  and  his  wife  together 
wrote  a  play  called  The  Hanging  Judge.  In  this, 
the  title  character  is  tempted  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  to  tamper  with  the  course  of  justice,  in 
order  to  shield  his  wife  from  persecution  by  a 
former  husband  who  reappears  after  being  supposed 
dead.  Bulwer's  novel  of  Paul  Clifford,  with  its 
final  situation  of  the  worldly-minded  judge,  Sir 


252  WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

William  Brandon,  learning  that  the  highwayman 
whom  he  is  in  the  act  of"  sentencing  is  his  own 
son,  and  dying  of  the  knowledge,  was  also  well 
known  to  Stevenson,  and  no  doubt  counted  for 
something  in  the  suggestion  of  the  present  story. 

Once  more,  the  difficulties  often  attending  the  re- 
lation of  father  and  son  in  actual  life  had  pressed 
heavily  on  Stevenson's  mind  and  conscience  from 
the  days  of  his  youth,  when  in  obeying  the  law  of 
his  own  nature  he  had  been  constrained  to  disap- 
point, distress,  and  for  a  time  to  be  much  misun- 
derstood by,  a  father  whom  he  justly  loved  and 
admired  with  all  his  heart.  Difficulties  of  this  kind 
he  had  already  handled  in  a  lighter  vein  once  or 
twice  in  fiction  —  as  for  instance  in  the  Story  of  a 
Lie  and  in  The  Wrecker  —  before  he  grappled  with 
them  in  the  acute  and  tragic  phase  in  which  they 
occur  in  the  present  story. 

These  three  elements,  then,  the  interest  of  the 
historical  personality  of  Lord  Braxfield,  the  prob- 
lems and  emotions  arising  from  a  violent  conflict 
between  duty  and  nature  in  a  judge,  and  the  diffi- 
culties due  to  incompatibility  and  misunderstanding 
between  father  and  son,  lie  at  the  foundations  of 
the  present  story.  To  touch  on  minor  matters, 
it  is  perhaps  worth  notice,  as  Mr.  Henley  reminds 
me,  that  the  name  of  Weir  had  from  of  old  a  spe- 


EDITORIAL  NOTE  253 

cial  significance  for  Stevenson's  imagination,  from 
the  traditional  fame  in  Edinburgh  of  Major  Weir, 
burned  as  a  warlock,  together  with  his  sister,  under 
circumstances  of  peculiar  atrocity.  Another  name, 
that  of  the  episodical  personage  of  Mr.  Torrance 
the  minister,  is  borrowed  direct  from  life,  as  indeed 
are  the  whole  figure  and  its  surroundings  —  kirk- 
yard,  kirk,  and  manse  —  down  even  to  the  black 
thread  mittens :  witness  the  following  passage  from 
a  letter  of  the  early  seventies :  —  "I've  been  to 
church  and  am  not  depressed  —  a  great  step.  It 
was  at  that  beautiful  church  [of  Glencorse  hi  the 
Pentlands,  three  miles  from  his  father's  country 
home  at  Swanston] .  It  is  a  little  cruciform 
place,  with  a  steep  slate  roof.  The  small  kirkyard 
is  full  of  old  grave- stones ;  one  of  a  Frenchman 
from  Dunkerque,  I  suppose  he  died  prisoner  in  the 
military  prison  hard  by.  And  one,  the  most 
pathetic  memorial  I  ever  saw  :  a  poor  school-slate, 
in  a  wooden  frame,  with  the  inscription  cut  into  it 
evidently  by  the  father's  own  hand.  In  church, 
old  Mr.  Torrance  preached,  over  eighty  and  a 
relic  of  times  forgotten,  with  his  black  thread 
gloves  and  mild  old  face."  A  side  hint  for  a 
particular  trait  in  the  character  of  Mrs.  Weir  we 
can  trace  in  some  family  traditions  concerning  the 
writer's  own  grandmother,  who  is  reported  to  have 


254          WEIR   °F  HERMISTON 

valued  piety  much  more  than  efficiency  in  her 
domestic  servants.  The  other  women  characters 
seem,  so  far  as  his  friends  know,  to  have  been  pure 
creation,  and  especially  that  new  and  admirable 
incarnation  of  the  eternal  feminine  in  the  elder 
Kirstie.  The  little  that  he  says  about  her  himself 
is  in  a  letter  written  a  few  days  before  his  death 
to  Mr.  Gosse.  The  allusions  are  to  the  various 
moods  and  attitudes  of  people  in  regard  to  middle 
age,  and  are  suggested  by  Mr.  Gosse' s  volume  of 
poems,  In  Russet  and  Silver.  "  It  seems  rather 
funny,"  he  writes,  «'  that  this  matter  should  come 
up  just  now,  as  I  am  at  present  engaged  in  treating 
a  severe  case  of  middle  age  in  one  of  my  stories, 
The  Justice-  Clerk.  The  case  is  that  of  a  woman, 
and  I  think  I  am  doing  her  justice.  You  will  be 
interested,  I  believe,  to  see  the  difference  in  our 
treatments.  Secreta  Vitae  [the  title  of  one  of 
Mr.  Gosse' s  poems]  comes  nearer  to  the  case  of 
my  poor  Kirstie."  From  the  wonderful  midnight 
scene  between  her  and  Archie,  we  may  judge  what 
we  have  lost  in  those  later  scenes  w'.ere  she  was 
to  have  taxed  him  with  the  fault  that  was  not  his 
—  to  have  presently  learned  his  innocence  from  the 
lips  of  his  supposed  victim  —  to  have  then  vindi- 
cated him  to  her  kinsmen  and  fired  them  to  the 
action  of  his  rescue.  The  scene  of  the  prison- 


EDITORIAL   NOTE  255 

breaking  here  planned  by  Stevenson  would  have 
gained  interest  (as  will  already  have  occurred  to 
readers)  from  comparison  with  the  two  famous 
precedents  in  Scott,  the  Porteous  mob  and  the 
breaking  of  Portanferry  Jail. 

The  best  account  of  Stevenson's  methods  of 
imaginative  work  is  in  the  following  sentences 
from  a  letter  of  his  own  to  Mr.  W.  Craibe  Angus 
of  Glasgow  :  —  "I  am  still  '  a  slow  study,'  and  sit 
for  a  long  while  silent  on  my  eggs.  Unconscious 
thought,  there  is  the  only  method  :  macerate  your 
subject,  let  it  boil  slow,  then  take  the  lid  off  and 
look  in  —  and  there  your  stuff  is  —  good  or  bad." 
The  several  elements  above  noted  having  been  left 
to  work  for  many  years  in  his  mind,  it  was  in  the 
autumn  of  1 892  that  he  was  moved  to  "  take  the  lid 
off  and  look  in,"  — under  the  influence,  it  would 
seem,  of  a  special  and  overmastering  wave  of  that 
feeling  for  the  romance  of  Scottish  scenery  and 
character  which  was  at  all  times  so  strong  in  him, 
and  which  his  exile  did  so  much  to  intensify.  I 
quote  again  from  his  letter  to  Mr.  Barrie  on 
November  I  in  that  year  :  —  "It  is  a  singular 
thing  that  I  should  live  here  in  the  South  Seas 
under  conditions  so  new  and  so  striking,  and  yet 
my  imagination  so  continually  inhabit  the  cold  old 
huddle  of  grey  hills  from  which  we  come.  I  have 


256  WEIR   OF  HERMISTON 

finished  David  Balfour,  I  have  another  book  on 
the  stocks,  The  Young  Chevalier,  which  is  to  be 
part  in  France  and  part  in  Scotland,  and  to  deal 
with  Prince  Charlie  about  the  year  1 749  ;  and  now 
what  have  I  done  but  begun  a  third,  which  is  to  be 
all  moorland  together,  and  is  to  have  for  a  centre- 
piece a  figure  that  I  think  you  will  appreciate  —  that 
of  the  immortal  Braxfield.  Braxfield  himself  is  my 
grand  premier  —  or  since  you  are  so  much  involved 
in  the  British  drama,  let  me  say  my  heavy  lead." 

Writing  to  me  at  the  same  date  he  makes  the 
same  announcement  more  briefly,  with  a  list  of  the 
characters  and  an  indication  of  the  scene  and  date 
of  the  story.  To  Mr.  Baxter  he  writes  a  month 
later,  "I  have  a  novel  on  the  stocks  to  be  called 
The  Justice-  Clerk.  It  is  pretty  Scotch  ;  the  grand 
premier  is  taken  from  Braxfield  (O,  by  the  by,  send 
me  Cockburn's  Memorials},  and  some  of  the  story 
is,  well,  queer.  The  heroine  is  seduced  by  one 
man,  and  finally  disappears  with  the  other  man  who 
shot  him.  .  .  .  Mind  you,  I  expect  The  Justice- 
Clerk  to  be  my  masterpiece.  My  Braxfield  is  al- 
ready a  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy  for  ever,  and  so 
far  as  he  has  gone  far  my  best  character."  From 
the  last  extract  it  appears  that  he  had  already  at  this 
date  drafted  some  of  the  earlier  chapters  of  the  book. 
He  also  about  the  same  time  composed  the  dedica- 


EDITORIAL   NOTE  257 

tion  to  his  wife,  who  found  it  pinned  to  her  bed- 
curtains  one  morning  on  awaking.  It  was  always 
his  habit  to  keep  several  books  in  progress  at  the 
same  time,  turning  from  one  to  another  as  the 
fancy  took  him,  and  finding  rest  in  the  change  of 
labour ;  and  for  many  months  after  the  date  of  this 
letter,  first  illness,  —  then  a  voyage  to  Auckland, 
—  then  work  on  the  Ebb-Tide,  on  a  new  tale 
called  St.  Ives,  which  was  begun  during  an  attack 
of  influenza,  and  on  his  projected  book  of  family 
history,  —  prevented  his  making  any  continuous 
progress  with  Weir.  In  August  1893  he  says  he 
has  been  recasting  the  beginning.  A  year  later, 
still  only  the  first  four  or  five  chapters  had  been 
drafted.  Then,  in  the  last  weeks  of  his  life,  he 
attacked  the  task  again,  in  a  sudden  heat  of  inspi- 
ration, and  worked  at  it  ardently  and  without  inter- 
ruption until  the  end  came.  No  wonder  if  during 
those  weeks  he  was  sometimes  aware  of  a  tension 
of  the  spirit  difficult  to  sustain.  "  How  can  I 
keep  this  pitch  ?  "  he  is  reported  to  have  said  after 
finishing  one  of  the  chapters.  To  keep  the  pitch 
proved  indeed  beyond  his  strength  ;  and  that  frail 
organism,  taxed  so  long  and  so  unsparingly  in 
obedience  to  his  indomitable  will,  at  last  betrayed 
him  in  mid  effort. 

There  remains  one  more  point  to  be  mentioned, 


258  WEIR   OF  HERMISTON 

as  to  the  speech  and  manners  of  the  Hanging  Judge 
himself.  That  these  are  not  a  whit  exaggerated, 
in  comparison  with  what  is  recorded  of  his  historic 
prototype,  Lord  Braxfield,  is  certain.  The  locus 
classicus .  in  regard  to  this  personage  is  in  Lord 
Cockburn's  Memorials  of  bis  Time.  "Strong  built 
and  dark,  with  rough  eyebrows,  powerful  eyes, 
threatening  lips,  and  a  low  growling  voice,  he  was 
like  a  formidable  blacksmith.  His  accent  and  dia- 
lect were  exaggerated  Scotch ;  his  language,  like 
his  thoughts,  short,  strong,  and  conclusive.  Illit- 
erate and  without  any  taste  for  any  refined  enjoy- 
ment, strength  of  understanding  which  gave  him 
power  without  cultivation,  only  encouraged  him  to 
a  more  contemptuous  disdain  of  all  natures  less 
coarse  than  his  own.  It  may  be  doubted  if  he  was 
ever  so  much  in  his  element  as  when  tauntingly 
repelling  the  last  despairing  claim  of  a  wretched 
culprit,  and  sending  him  to  Botany  Bay  or  the 
gallows  with  an  insulting  jest.  Yet  this  was  not 
from  cruelty,  for  which  he  was  too  strong  and  too 
jovial,  but  from  cherished  coarseness."  Readers, 
nevertheless,  who  are  at  all  acquainted  with  the 
social  history  of  Scotland  will  hardly  fail  to  have 
made  the  observation  that  Braxfield' s  is  an  extreme 
case  of  eighteenth-century  manners,  as  he  himself 
was  an  eighteenth-century  personage  (he  died  in 


EDITORIAL   NOTE  259 

1 799  in  his  seventy-eighth  year)  ;  and  that  for  the 
date  in  which  the  story  is  cast  (1814)  such  man- 
ners are  somewhat  of  an  anachronism.  During  the 
generation  contemporary  with  the  French  Revolu- 
tion and  the  Napoleonic  wars,  —  or  to  put  it 
another  way,  the  generation  that  elapsed  between 
the  days  when  Scott  roamed  the  country  as  a 
High  School  and  University  student  and  those 
when  he  settled  in  the  fulness  of  fame  and  pros- 
perity at  Abbotsford, — or  again  (the  allusions  will 
appeal  to  readers  of  the  admirable  Gait)  during  the 
intervals  between  the  first  and  the  last  provostry 
of  Bailie  Pawkie  in  the  borough  of  Gudetown,  or 
between  the  earlier  and  the  final  ministrations  of 
Mr.  Balwhidder  in  the  parish  of  Dalmailing,  — 
during  this  period  a  great  softening  had  taken  place 
in  Scottish  manners  generally,  and  in  those  of  the 
Bar  and  Bench  not  least.  "Since  the  death  of 
Lord  Justice-Clerk  Macqueen  of  Braxfield,"  says 
Lockhart,  writing  about  1817,  "  the  whole  exterior 
of  judicial  deportment  has  been  quite  altered."  A 
similar  criticism  may  probably  hold  good  on  the 
picture  of  border  life  contained  in  the  chapter  con- 
cerning the  Four  Black  Brothers  of  Cauldstaneslap, 
viz.,  that  it  rather  suggests  the  ways  of  an  earlier 
generation ;  nor  have  I  any  clue  to  the  reasons 
which  led  Stevenson  to  choose  this  particular  date, 


z6o          WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 

in  the  year  preceding  Waterloo,  for  a  story  which, 
in  regard  to  some  of  its  features  at  least,  might 
seem  more  naturally  placed  some  twenty-five  or 
thirty  years  before. 

If  the  reader  seeks,  farther,  to  know  whether  the 
scenery  of  Hermiston  can  be  identified  with  any 
one  special  place  familiar  to  the  writer's  early 
experience,  the  answer,  I  think,  must  be  in  the 
negative.  Rather  it  is  distilled  from  a  number  of 
different  haunts  and  associations  among  the  moor- 
lands of  southern  Scotland.  In  the  dedication  and 
in  a  letter  to  me  he  indicates  the  Lammermuirs  as 
the  scene  of  his  tragedy,  and  Mrs.  Stevenson  (his 
mother)  tells  me  that  she  thinks  he  was  inspired 
by  recollections  of  a  visit  paid  in  boyhood  to  an 
uncle  living  at  a  remote  farmhouse  in  that  district 
called  Overshiels,  in  the  parish  of  Stow.  But 
although  he  may  have  thought  of  the  Lammermuirs 
in  the  first  instance,  we  have  already  found  him 
drawing  his  description  of  the  kirk  and  manse  from 
another  haunt  of  his  youth,  namely,  Glencorse  in 
the  Pentlands.  And  passages  in  chapters  v.  and 
viii.  point  explicitly  to  a  third  district,  that  is,  the 
country  bordering  upon  Upper  Tvveeddale  and  the 
head  waters  of  the  Clyde.  With  this  country  also 
holiday  rides  and  excursions  from  Peebles  had 
made  him  familiar  as  a  boy  :  and  this  seems  cer- 


EDITORIAL   NOTE  261 

tainly  the  most  natural  scene  of  the  story,  if  only 
from  its  proximity  to  the  proper  home  of  the 
Elliotts,  which  of  course  is  in  the  heart  of  the 
Border,  especially  Teviotdale  and  Ettrick.  Some 
of  the  geographical  names  mentioned  are  clearly 
not  meant  to  furnish  literal  indications.  The 
Spango,  for  instance,  is  a  water  running,  I  believe, 
not  into  the  Tweed  but  into  the  Nith,  and  Cross- 
michael  as  the  name  of  a  town  is  borrowed  from 
Galloway. 

But  it  is  with  the  general  and  essential  that  the 
artist  deals,  and  questions  of  strict  historical  per- 
spective or  local  definition  are  beside  the  mark  in 
considering  his  work.  Nor  will  any  reader  ex- 
pect, or  be  grateful  for,  comment  in  this  place  on 
matters  which  are  more  properly  to  the  point  —  on 
the  seizing  and  penetrating  power  of  the  author's 
ripened  art  as  exhibited  in  the  foregoing  pages,  the 
wide  range  of  character  and  emotion  over  which 
he  sweeps  with  so  assured  a  hand,  his  vital  poetry 
of  vision  and  magic  of  presentment.  Surely  no 
son  of  Scotland  has  died  leaving  with  his  last 
breath  a  worthier  tribute  to  the  land  he  loved. 

SIDNEY  COLVIN. 


Glossary 


ae,  one. 

antinomian,  one  of  a  sect  which 
holds  that  under  the  gospel 
dispensation  the  moral  law  is 
not  obligatory. 

Auld  Hornie,  the  Devil. 

ballant,  ballad. 

bauchles,  brogues,  old  shoes. 

bees  in  their  bonnet,  fads. 

birling,  whirling. 

black-a-vised,  dark  -  complex- 
toned. 

bonnet-laird,  small  landed  pro- 
prietor. 

bool,  ball. 

brae,  rising  ground. 

butt  end,  end  of  a  cottage. 

byre,  cow-bouse. 

ca',  drive. 

caller,  fresh. 

canna,  cannot. 

canny,  careful,  shrewd. 

cantie,  cheerful. 


carline,  an  old  woman. 
chalmer,  chamber. 
claes,  clothes. 
clamjamfry,  crowd. 
clavers,  idle  talk. 
cock-laird,  a  yeoman. 
collieshangie,  turmoil. 
crack,  to  converse. 
cuddy,  donkey. 
cuist,  cast. 
cutty,  slut. 

daft,  mad,  frolicsome. 

dander,  to  saunter. 

danders,  cinders. 

daurna,  dare  not. 

deave,  to  deafen. 

demmy  brokens,  demi-bro- 
quins. 

dirdum,  vigour. 

disjaskit,  worn  out,  disrepu- 
table looking. 

doer,  law  agent. 

dour,  bard. 

drumlie,  dark. 


263 


264 


WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 


dunting,  knocking. 

dule-tree,  the  tree  of  lamenta- 
tion, the  banging  tree:  dule 
is  also  Scots  for  boundary, 
and  it  may  mean  the  boun- 
dary tree,  the  tree  on  which 
the  baron  bung  interlopers. 

dwaibly,  infirm,  rickety. 

earrand,  errand. 
ettercap,  -vixen. 

fechting,  fighting. 

feck,  quantity,  portion. 

feckless,  feeble,  poiuerless. 

fell,  strong  and  fiery. 

fey,  unlike  yourself,  strange,  as 
persons  are  observed  to  be 
in  the  hour  of  approaching 
death  or  disaster. 

fit,  foot. 

flyped,  turned  up,  turned  in- 
side out. 

forgather,  to  fall  in  with. 

fule,  fool. 

fiishionless,  pithless,  -weak. 

fyle,  to  soil,  to  defile. 

fylement,  obloquy,  defilement. 

gaed,  went. 
gey  an',  -very. 
gigot,  leg  of  mutton. 


girzie,  lit.  diminutive  ofGrizel, 
here  a  playful  nickname. 

glaur,  mud. 

glint,  glance,  sparkle. 

gloaming,  tiviligbt. 

glower,  to  scowl. 

gobbets,  small  lumps. 

gowden,  golden. 

gowsty,  gusty. 

grat,  -wept. 

grieve,  land-steward. 

guddle,  to  catch  fish  -with  the 
bands  by  groping  under  the 
stones  or  banks. 

guid,  good. 

gumption,  common  sense,  judg- 
ment. 

gurley,  stormy,  surly. 

gyte,  beside  itself. 

haddit,  held. 
hae,  have,  take. 
hale,  'whole. 
heels-ower-hurdie,   heels   over 

head. 

hinney,  honey. 
hirstle,  to  bustle. 
hizzie,  wench. 
howl,  hovel. 
hunkered,  crouched. 
hypothec,  lit.  a  term  in  Scots 

law    meaning    the    security 


GLOSSARY 


265 


given  by  a  tenant  to  a 
landlord,  as  furniture, 
produce,  etc.  ;  by  metonymy 
and  colloquially  "  the  tubole 
structure"  "  the  "whole  af- 
fair. ' ' 

idleset,  idleness. 

infeftment,    a    term    in    Scots 

law    originally   synonymous 

•with  investiture. 

jeely-piece,    a    slice    of  bread 

and  jelly. 
jennipers,  juniper. 
jo,  sweetheart. 
justifeed,   executed,   made    the 

victim  of  justice. 
jyle,  jail. 

kebbuck,  cheese. 
ken,  to  know. 
kenspeckle,  conspicuous. 
kilted,  tucked  up. 
kyte,  belly. 

laigh,  low. 

laird,  landed  proprietor. 

lane,  alone. 

lave,  rest,  remainder. 

lown,  lonely,  still. 

lynn,  cataract. 


macers,  officers  of  the  court 
[cf.  Guy  Mannering,  last 
chapter] . 

maun,  must. 

menseful,  of  good  manners. 

mirk,  dark. 

misbegowk,  deception,  disap- 
pointment. 

mools,  mould,  earth. 

muckle,  much,  great    big. 

my  lane,  by  myself. 

nowt,  black  cattle. 

palmering,  walking  infirmly. 
panel,  in  Scots  law,  the  accused 

person  in  a  criminal  action, 

the  prisoner. 

peel,  a  fortified  watch-tower. 
plew-stilts,  plough-handles. 
policy,  ornamental  grounds  of 

a  country  mansion. 
puddock,  frog. 

quean,  •wench. 

riff-raff,  rabble. 
risping,  grating. 
rowt,  to  roar,  to  rant. 
rowth,  abundance. 
rudas,  haggard  old  woman. 
runt,  an  old  cow  past  breeding, 
opprobriously,  an  old  woman. 


266 


WEIR   OF   HERMISTON 


sab,  sot. 

sanguishes,  sandwiches. 
sasine,  in  Scots  law,  the  act  of 
giving  legal  possession  of 
feudal  property,  or,  collo- 
quially, the  deed  by  which 
that  possession  is  proved. 

sclamber,  to  scramble. 

sculduddery,  impropriety, gross- 
ness. 

session,  the  Court  of  Session, 
the  supreme  court  of  Scot- 
land. 

shauchling,  shuffling. 

shoo,  to  chase  gently. 

siller,  money. 

sinsyne,  since  then. 

skailing,  dispersing. 

skelp,  slap. 

skirling,  screaming. 

skreigh-o'-day,  daybreak. 

snash,  abuse. 

sneisty,  supercilious. 

sooth,  to  hum. 

speir,  to  ask. 

speldering,  sprawling. 

splairge,  to  splash. 

spunk,  spirit,  fire. 


steik,  to  shut. 
sugar-bool,  sugar-plum. 

tawpie,  a  slow  foolish  slut. 
telling  you,  a  good  thing  for 

you. 

thir,  these. 

thrawn,  cross-grained. 
toon,  toivn. 
two-names,     local     sobriquets 

in  addition  to  patronymic. 
tyke,  dog. 

unchancy,  unlucky. 

unco,  strange,  extraordinary, 

very. 
upsitten,  impertinent. 

vivers,  victuals. 

waling,  choosing. 
warrandise,  -warranty. 
waur,  worse. 
weird,  destiny. 
whammle,  to  upset. 
whaup,  curlew. 
windlestrae,   crested  dog's-tail 
grass. 

yin,  one. 


THE  WORKS  OF 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

JUST  ISSUED. 
Mr.  Stevenson's  Unfinished  Romance 

Weir  of  Hermiston, 

Attractively  bound.     121110,  $1.50. 


STEVENSON  S   ESTIMATE    OF   THE   STORY   AS   QUOTED  IN 
MRS.  STRONG'S  DIARY  : 

"The  story  unfolds  itself  before  me  to  the  least  detail. 
There  is  nothing  left  in  doubt.  I  never  felt  so  before  in  any- 
thing I  ever  wrote.  It  will  be  ray  best  work.  I  feel  myself  so 
sure  in  every  word.1' 

"  Surely  no  son  of  Scotland  has  died,  leaving 
with  his  last  breath  a  worthier  tribute  to  the  land 
he  loved." — SIDNEY  COLVIN. 

In  no  case  of  an  unfinished  romance  has  an  author 
left  so  full  a  forecast  of  his  intention.  Mr.  Stevenson 
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plot  of  what  remained  unwritten,  and  by  her  aid 
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